


I Might Start Another Day

by VeteranKlaus



Series: Numbers [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-29 20:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: April 1st passes and the world doesn't end. For some, it simply begins to rebuild itself.Sequel to 'The Ghost of Us'. Carries on directly from where it left off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sequel to 'The Ghost of Us' and it carries off directly from where it left off. Of course, I'd recommend you read that first, but if you're just here for the recovery part of it, then keep going. Of course, I still want to approach this subject sensitively, and if anyone has any concerns, please don't hesitate to find me in the comments or on Tumblr @veteranklaus. Thank you <3

Their family is a lot of things. Functional isn't one of them. Frustrating certainly is, and the past few days for Ben have been full of it. Having to watch Klaus be kidnapped and tortured while knowing that no one at home will notice he's missing is one thing, but watching his brother disappear in a burst of blue is something else. And then having to watch his family remain oblivious, uncaring, too, is another thing entirely.

He doesn't even know where Klaus is. Doesn't know what happened, where he went, or for how long, or if he's alright at all. He stays on the bus for over two hours, waiting for Klaus to come back. He doesn't quite know what to do without Klaus, anyway. He isn't used to being alone, and when he is, it's always because he left Klaus and not the other way around. Klaus doesn't return, and he's not at the Academy, and no one notices, and Ben can't do a thing. He can't feel Klaus like he usually can, even when they're far away - Klaus feels like a beacon in an otherwise dark and cold world. He's sure he'd be able to feel him from the other side of the world - and it's odd, terrifying, really. As if Ben's sat in a dark, cold room, and someone's snuffed out the only candle in it. The weight of being dead suddenly bores down on him with an intensity that he's not felt for a long time, and he has to focus on staying whole and not being sucked into a monochrome void that teases him without Klaus to tether him somewhat to the world of the living.

Of course, he understands Klaus' flightiness - he thinks he might understand it better than any of their other siblings - and he knows Klaus' reputation with lying and disappearing without a word or a trace. He understands that - but knowing that this isn't one of those cases is different. 

Time passes and still there's not a sign of Klaus. His name isn't uttered in the Academy, not by his family or a ghost. He's simply gone, and Ben doesn't know where. Not until Hazel tells them when, not until Diego goes to the library. 

Ben still feels like he's reeling. Shock remains heavy in his limbs, disbelief nestled in his chest. Even with Klaus laying right there, in that infirmary bed, he doesn't want to believe it. 

Does it say something about their family that three of them are laying in infirmary beds and one of them is dead? Ben thinks that they ought to talk about that, but no one says a thing, not even Grace. 

"I... uh, I think his ribs are broken," Diego comments, his voice raspy. Grace's eyes flick towards him and she nods.

"Yes, a couple of them are. I want to get his temperature up first - both of theirs."

Diego simply nods. He looks at his hands, clasped together with his elbows on his knees. Grace continues to potter around the two men, scanning and diagnosing them with her eyes, until she pulls a curtain around them, blocking them from their view. Diego grits his teeth. Ben steps through the curtain to watch as Grace fits a nasal cannula around Klaus' ears and by his nose, then peels the blankets back from his torso to run her fingertips over his uneven ribs, and then, with perfect precision, she sets his ribs into their proper place. She lingers over Klaus, pulling the blankets right back up to his chin, and then gently ghosts her fingers over his cheek with a sad frown on her face. She forces herself from him, going to the other man whom had come with Klaus. 

"We need to talk about this." He hears Diego say, and Ben returns to his siblings, drifting through the curtain unseen.

Five's sitting back up, legs dangling off the edge of the bed he's on. Colour's returned to his cheeks and although he still moves sluggishly, he's evidently feeling better, less dazed.

"What have you got to say then, Diego?" 

"I don't know! But don't you think we should talk about this?"

"I just don't know what we're supposed to do," Vanya admits, shaking her head. "That happened years ago. I just... I don't know what to think."

Five sits up a little more. "It's hardly been two hours for Klaus," he reminds. "Less than two hours ago Klaus was still there as it was happening. It doesn't matter whether or not it was seventy-odd years ago."

Ben grits his teeth together. His hands curl into fists, then stretch out, and he repeats the motion before dipping through the curtain to look at Klaus. Grace continues to potter between both of them on the beds, and neither of them do so much as twitch. If not for the rise and fall of their chests, Ben would assume they were both dead. 

"On the bright side," Five continues, "he knew what was happening when I came to him, so he shouldn't have trouble adjusting. I don't know about his friend."

"Who is he? I thought you said travelling with one extra person was hard enough."

"It is. They were together, though, and Klaus said he wouldn't leave without him. We were running out of time to leave as it was - they were being chased - and so I just had to do it. I didn't have a chance to stop and chat about how they knew one another."

"Are we supposed to get them a - a therapist, or something?"

"We don't even know what happened."

"I think you'd be able to pick up a history textbook and take a guess, Luther," Five snorts. "I don't think they'd want to sit down and tell you it like a story."

"What are we supposed to do?" 

"I still don't know! I just - I don't know."

"I guess we just... wait? Until he wakes up?" 

"Oh, just go with the flow of things - just like this is another drug stint, nothing much, yeah?"

"_Diego_ \- do you have a better idea?" 

"Shut up."

Grace tucks the blanket tighter around Klaus' friend and, after giving him another once over, she returns to Klaus' side, hovering by the side of his bed and simply looking down at him. A sad smile finds its way onto her lips and she fiddles with the blanket by his chin, as if wanting to tuck it tighter around him. She ghosts her fingertips over his cheek and then leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He twitches. The quiet, low beeping of his heart monitor, volume turned slightly down so it wasn't drilling and probably couldn't be heard over the arguing of their siblings, but could still be heard by Grace and Ben, picks up a little, and Klaus shivers, turning his head down towards the blanket and curling up slightly underneath it. Then, eyebrows furrowing, he opens his eyes slowly.

He sees Grace first, and surprise settles into his features. Grace smiles warmly at him. "Don't worry," she tells him, her voice quiet and soft - Ben thinks it's to not alert the siblings to him waking up, and he doesn't blame her. "You're okay now."

Klaus blinks at her, wide, doe eyes, and he looks around and finds Ben. Ben offers a wavering smile to him, coming closer.

"Hey," he says. "You're back, remember?"

Klaus blinks. His shoulders slump in relief, and he nods. "Yeah," he murmurs, closing his eyes. "I remember."

"Good. That's good, Klaus." He swallows, looking down at his feet. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

Klaus purses his lips in thought. "Warm," he mumbles, rubbing his cheek along the blanket. "'m fine."

"Are you sure? I - mom had to set your ribs, Klaus."

Klaus hums. "Mhmm."

"Do they hurt?"

"Mhmm. 's fine." He opens his eyes again, looking around with a sudden urgency. "Dave? Dave? Where's-"

"He's behind you, Klaus - lay back down, he's fine, he's asleep, too. Mom checked him over, too. He's alright."

At least that makes him settle slightly, but he seems more awake now, facing reality rather the warmth and safety of the bed. Something dark slips behind his eyes, something distant. He slumps back onto the bed, turning his gaze to the ceiling above him. Ben wonders what's going on inside his head, especially now, though he supposes he doesn't really want to know. He eyes the ceiling like it'll tell him the answers to all of his questions, and he doesn't say a thing.

The rest of their siblings keep arguing. Klaus doesn't pay much attention to the sound. Slowly, he pulls his hands out from under the blankets and peels the gloves off his hands, setting them aside on the bed. He flexes his fingers, then simply stares at his hands as if he expects something to be there. Ben remembers the blood on them when he first appeared. He hadn't been bleeding himself. He holds his hands to his chest, closes his eyes, and fiddles with the fluff on the blanket absentmindedly.

"Klaus..." Ben trails off, unsure of what to even say. He's saved by Grace though, her heels tapping the floor.

"How do you feel, dear? You should be keeping those gloves on; you're still cold, dear."

"I'm fine."

"How is the pain? If you need it, we have pain relief, dear."

"I'm sober," Klaus mumbles. 

"Is he awake?" Diego asks from behind the curtain, and it moves slightly. "Mom?"

Grace moves before Diego can force his way in, poking her head by the curtain. "Sit down for a minute, dear. I still need to talk to him." Diego lingers, his jaw locked, but he sits back down nonetheless.

"He's awake?" Vanya asks.

"I think so."

"Where's Five?" Klaus asks, turning his gaze to Ben. Ben gestures to the curtains.

"Everyone's just there, Five included." Klaus hums his acknowledgement. 

"I want to see him," he mumbles. 

"I can't get him for you, Klaus. I'm sorry."

"I know." Klaus sighs, closing his eyes again and seeming to thoroughly sink into the bed, his arms slipping back beneath the blankets, fingers curling into them and pulling them up. Grace returns to his side, asking him a few basic questions about where - and when - he is, although it's obvious that Klaus remembers everything from Five appearing to him and bringing him back. 

Dave begins to stir in the other bed. It catches Klaus' attention almost immediately and he turns to face him, lifting himself upright in the bed despite both Grace and Ben telling him not to. "He'll be confused," says Klaus, and he lefts his legs out from under the blankets and over the edge of the bed, peeling out the IV from his elbow with a shaking hand, taking off the nasal cannula. He wraps one blanket around himself like a towel, then another one around his shoulders like a cape, and he stands, somehow - Ben doesn't know how he's still standing when he looks so dead - by Dave's bed, placing one of his hands on his cheek, blocking his vision with his own face.

"Hey, Dave, hey, hey," he says, and a small smile stretches his lips. Dave's eyes flutter open, taking a moment to focus on Klaus. His eyebrows draw together as he looks at Klaus, then looks down at himself. "Are you okay?"

"We're dead," says Dave, hardly above a whisper. "We died."

Klaus shakes his head, leaning a little closer. "No, we're not," he says, his eyes a little warm and wet. "We're alive, Dave. Safe! We're fine. I told you - remember? I told you about my family, yeah? We're with them, we're safe."

Dave sits up a little more. He looks down at the blankets wrapped tightly around himself, and he flexes his gloved hands. "You said your family lives in a different country," he states. Klaus nods gingerly.

"Yeah. It's - it's confusing. But remembering _everything _I told you? Everything. Twenty-nineteen, powers; everything."

Dave stares blankly at him for a moment. "You think we're in the future?"

"We are! That's the thing, Dave; we _are, _and we're safe, Dave."

Dave frowns sadly, and Klaus' thumb brushes his cheekbone. "I think we're dead, Klaus."

Klaus shakes his head adamantly, then nudges Dave. "Move up." Dave does, so, shuffling back in the bed until Klaus manages to lift himself onto it with surprising ease, slotting easily next to him. The bed's a single bed, narrow, but there's more than enough room for both of them. Closer, Klaus drops his voice, talking in a hushed murmur, and Ben doesn't try to eavesdrop. His hands clench, and he feels the need to be near Klaus, to know everything he's saying, how he's feeling; to reassure to himself that Klaus is here and fine - as fine as he can be, anyway - but he forces himself to remain a few paces away, lingering by Grace, smoothing Klaus' bed down.

"Can we see him, Grace?" Calls Luther, and Klaus startles slightly, as if forgetting for a moment that he is, actually, home. He turns to look at Grace, straightening his pillow, and she turns to look at Klaus, her lips smiling artificially again. 

"Would you like to see them, dear?" She asks.

"That's your mother?" Dave whispers. 

"Yeah. Robot, remember?" Klaus returns in a whisper. He pauses for a moment, looking at the curtain, and then he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

The way he says it twists Ben's guts in a similar fashion to how the Horrors used to. For all of their stunted emotions and closed off-ness, Klaus missed them, and he wants to see them again. And they didn't know he was gone, let alone where he was gone.

Grace smiles at Klaus and turns to the curtains. Ben wonders, for a moment, if she's going to warn them; ask them to be quiet, calm, gentle. They would need the reminder, Ben thinks. But she doesn't, and she pulls the curtain back, revealing all of their siblings. Five and Allison have stood up, too, Luther's hand resting on Allison's back.

For a moment, they just stare at one another. Dave and Klaus stare at them, and they stare back. Klaus turns to Five. Five hesitates for a moment before taking a few steps closer, close enough for Klaus to reach his hand out, wrap it around his shoulders, and pull him against his chest in a tight hug. Five stiffens in surprise, and Klaus only keeps his grip tight there. "Thank you," Klaus whispers. Five gingerly returns the hug, much to their surprise. Eventually, though, Klaus inhales and lets go, sinking back into the bed. 

"Hey, guys," he says weakly, looking over them all. His eyes narrow at a tearful Allison. "What happened to your throat? Are you okay?"

She doesn't make a sound, but shakily continues forwards, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. 

"Seriously, though, what happened?"

"Vanya cut her," says Luther. Diego reaches out, thumping his fist against Luther's stomach and hissing at him.

"Shut up-"

"I - I didn't mean to, I-"

"Shut up," says Five, rising his voice above theirs. "You've had hours to talk about this. Shut up about it now."

Diego nods his agreement, glaring coldly at Luther, before coming up to Klaus and Dave. "Klaus," he says, voice suddenly much softer, "h-h... how are you?"

Klaus looks away. He looks up at the ceiling again, and Ben slips to his side. "I'm warm," he repeats. Ben wonders if warmth became a stranger to him, for he seems to focus on it. 

Silence stretches. Klaus doesn't seem to mind. "Who's this?" Diego asks, eyes flicking to Dave. Behind Klaus, Dave stiffens slightly, and Klaus squeezes his hands beneath the blankets. 

"Dave," says Klaus. "His name's Dave. I met him before... Before. He's my... friend." He looks at them all, a little defensively, and Diego waves his hands, palms open. 

"Okay, alright. That's fine. Cool. Do you... need anything?"

Klaus lets out a sigh. "No. No, I just..." He lets out a breathy laugh, shoulders slumping. "No." He drags his hands down his face, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Oh, god. I thought I was going to die." He shakes his head, shoulders high, sniffling while he wears a twisted smile on his lips. "Thank you. Thank you." 

Aside from Klaus' sniffling, there's just silence. Klaus wipes at his eyes furiously, drying them, and then he turns to Dave. "That's Diego," he murmurs, pointing at Diego. "Luther." He gestures to him. "Five, Allison, Vanya, B-Mom. I told you all about them."

Dave nods his head tiredly. He stills looks dazed, confused, blinking as if he expects reality to just crumble around them. "I... yeah. You have. He told me a lot about you," he confirms quietly. 

"Are you tired?" Klaus asks, turning to Dave. 

"I... yeah." He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly. Klaus leans close to him, murmuring something in his ear, and for a moment it was as if no one else existed for them. Everyone else was an imposter, imposing in on this moment for them, and they simply watch as Klaus coaxes Dave back into the bed, eyes closed. He hovers above him for a moment, fingers stroking his cheek, and then he glances up at his family, as if remembering they're still there.

"Stop looking at me like that," says Klaus. 

"We need to talk about this," Luther says, shifting from foot to foot. 

"About what?" Klaus' eyes narrow slightly. "I... I don't want to. Let me just be back," he requests, voice quiet. Hesitantly, he lifts the blankets off himself, stands up to his feet. Diego hurries to his side, and Klaus flinches a little.

"You should be sitting down, Klaus. Resting," he says, hand on his arm.

"I'm hungry," Klaus states. "And naked. I want food, and I want clothes."

Diego lingers. "We can get you it. You should sit down."

"I want to, Diego," says Klaus, something edged in his voice. Diego hesitates before simply nodding, and the siblings part like dazed waves to let Klaus and Diego through, before hurrying to follow him into the kitchen. He walks surprisingly fast, for his circumstance. His knuckles clutch the blankets tied around himself shakily, and despite the look of concentration on his pinched face, the uneven breathing, and the limp, he doesn't slow down until Diego takes his arm and slows his pace. 

He looks at the kitchen like a foreign place; like one might when they book a hotel for a night and look around in curiosity at the unfamiliar surroundings, and he begins rifling through the cupboards. He grabs handfuls of food that can be eaten immediately; he grabs a packet of doritos, a jar of peanut butter, a bar of dark chocolate, a bar of milk chocolate. He finds a bag of salted peanuts, and he opens the fridge, staring inside of it. He reaches in, grabs a couple of strawberries, and puts both into his mouth and moves on. He opens another cupboard and eyes a loaf of bread with his eyes narrowed, something that Ben can't place in his expression, and then he turns away from it and to more food. Gummy bears, leftover cookies and leftover brownies from Grace's baking, pretzels, berries, anything that seems to even catch his eye for more than a split second.

He dumps his findings on the dining table and falls painfully into a seat, reaches for the nearest thing, and only then seems to remember everyone else in the room. He looks up, suddenly hesitant, and looks at the food in his hand. He stares at it for several seconds, silent, conflict written across his face, anger in his eyes and, beneath that, fear. He goes to peel off the covering of the tub of berries in his hands, only his fingers never move after pinching the lid. "Can... can I eat this?" He asks, not looking up, his voice quiet.

"What?" Luther asks, blinking.

"Can I," Klaus repeats, gritting the words out, "eat this?" 

"Uh, yeah," says Luther, nodding. "Yes."

And, with that, Klaus peels the lid off the berries and dips his hand in, and drops a handful into his mouth. His leg bounces and Ben isn't sure if it's from excitement or anxiety. He eats more, then moves on, reaching for the gummy bears. His hands shake as he pulls open the packet and puts some into his mouth, chewing heavily, and he reaches for the doritos. He sniffs them, and then reaches for the brownies instead, grabs one, stuffs it into his mouth, covers his mouth while he chews, cheeks puffy, but reaches for another one. 

"Klaus, I think you should slow down," Ben says, watching Klaus with a grimace. "Just take a minute, Klaus."

"When was the last time you ate?" Diego asks, coming closer and sitting opposite him. Klaus swallows heavily, not looking at him.

"Hewdig's," he mumbles, name hardly coherent around the food in his mouth. 

"And when was that?"

Klaus shrugs. "Lunch." He bites the other brownie in his hand after swallowing what was in his mouth. 

"You'll make yourself sick eating that fast," Five tells him, "slow down, Klaus." 

Klaus eyes him for a moment, as if worried that Five might reach other and take all of his food away. Five simply sits in the chair next to him.

"Klaus," Diego sighs, "for once, Luther's right. I think we need to talk about this," he says, and he does sound apologetic. Klaus eats the rest of the brownie in his hand and returns to the berries. He seems to prefer them, and he focuses on picking them up one by one.

"Talk about what?" He mumbles. He drops berries into his mouth. He scratches his nails along his forearms, ghosts his fingers over the blankets wrapped around himself. 

"This, Klaus. What happened to you."

"What happened to me?"

Diego grits his teeth. "You know what, Klaus."

Klaus doesn't look at him. "You know too, then."

"There's articles about you online, Klaus," Diego continues, flexing his fingers. "Articles, interviews, photos-"

"You found the photos?" Klaus asks suddenly, sitting more upright. 

"Uh... yeah. There's a few of them around. We found them."

Klaus looks down at his hands. "I tried to get in them, you know?" He murmurs. "I thought that... I dunno. Thought that you might see them and help me."

No one says anything. Ben looks down, avoiding everyone else's slightly guilty looks. Thankfully, Klaus is too busy with his berries to notice. He manages another small handful before pushing the food away, seemingly full. "Am I famous?" Klaus asks jokingly, though it lands flat. 

"Klaus," Ben says sadly. Klaus glances briefly at him. He sighs, dragging his hands down his face. 

"What do you _want_ me to say?" He asks, and the walls he had put back up begin to crumble. "What am I _supposed_ to say? I - just -" He trails off, dropping his head into his hands and running his hands through the short, uneven buzz on his head, sighing heavily. "Just - let me be home. Let me be out of there." He swipes at his eyes and stands suddenly, chair slipping backwards. He storms past them, although it has little to no effect, no sound coming from his fluffy-sock-clad feet, and he walks wobbly, uneven, leaving them all in the kitchen. 

Ben stays with them. They all just exchange looks, and they all look incredibly out of their depth. 

"It's like he doesn't want us to help him," Luther mutters, sighing.

"It's not like any of us ever talk about our problems," Vanya points out.

"In his defence," says Five, "two hours ago he was getting shot at as he tried to escape from Auschwitz after months being there. I don't think any of our own problems can really relate to that, and I'm not sure you guys would be the ones I'd want to talk to about it."

Luther glares at him and Five just shrugs. "Then what are we supposed to do?" Luther asks him sarcastically.

"You could probably drop the attitude," Five retorts. Luther's nostrils flare and he lifts his head a little higher, stands a little taller. 

"I don't see how you've helped," Luther replies. "Allison almost died, you weren't there, and you still insist on Vanya walking around as if she isn't going to kill all of us."

"Not helped aside from the fact that I literally saved Klaus from his impending death? And that I spent forty-five years trying to get back to you," he reminds him, hissing the words out, "to save you from an apocalypse, which doesn't include locking our sister in a cage. What have you done, Luther? If Vanya wanted to kill us, I assure you, you'd be dead already."

Luther steps right up to Five's side, and Five doesn't move an inch from his seat, only craning his neck to catch his eyes. Allison, whom had been busy with a notepad and pen, hits her hand off the table a few times to catch everyone's attention. 

_We don't have time for your bickering. Vanya and Klaus need our help._

"What she said," Diego agrees, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Klaus isn't going to end the world," Luther says. "If we're still afraid of the apocalypse tomorrow, apparently, then we ought to focus on that." He looks pointedly at Vanya, who's become more panicked and upset. Enough so that the lights in the room had begun to swing, the table vibrating against the floor.

"Please," Vanya says, taking a step back, "just stop - I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Vanya, please don't try to get through to his thick skull," Five dismisses, waving his hand. 

Luther reaches out, then, but just before he can grab Five's uniform, Five disappears, returning behind him. "Way to go, One."

"You were worried about the apocalypse before you got Klaus," Luther states.

"And you weren't," Five replies. "Until it became about Vanya and you didn't get your way." He drags his hands down his face tiredly. "Are you doing what dad would want you to do, or are you doing what your family needs you to do?"

Luther doesn't respond to that, and the question rings in all of their skulls, heavy and painful. Five nods his head, and then he disappears.

Ben takes one last look at them all, and then he turns, walks right through a wall, and comes back into the infirmary. Klaus is there again, forgoing his mission of getting clothes for the moment. He's buried in his own blankets and Dave's, the two of them curled around one another in the bed. Dave still seems asleep, and Klaus' eyes are half-lidded. Grace replaced the IV for him, and he doesn't notice as Ben approaches. He keeps murmuring to Dave, even if he's asleep, or possibly murmuring to himself. 

For all the times that Ben's been unable to help Klaus, or simply unable to even touch him, he thinks that this is the worst. He longs to just reach out and hug him, be able to feel him, but of course he can't. He simply hovers over the bed until he hears Klaus stop talking and falls asleep, head on Dave's shoulder, just visible above the mound of blankets covering them both. Ben eyes his face, the lingering bruises splotched on his pale skin, and the angry, painful looking scar on the back of his head, and there's nothing he can do.

Five comes in, at some point. He teleports inside and pulls a chair up to Klaus' bedside, and he holds a book in his hands, and he simply sits there. His eyes linger on Klaus for several moments, his face unreadable, and then he opens his book and begins to read, glancing up every so often. Ben catches him standing up to lean over, watching them with hawk's eyes, and place a hand on Klaus' forehead, then Dave's, then he rearranges the blankets and sits back down to read, keeping vigil over Klaus and Dave, and Ben keeps vigil over all three. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's easy with the Hargreeves family, let alone this situation. I'd love to hear your feedback and, of course, if you have any concerns or questions, don't hesitate!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be flashbacks and such to scenes that weren't specifically mentioned in The Ghost of Us; he was there for months, not everything was shown. That being said, there's none here.

In the apocalypse, one of Vanya's books had still been whole enough to read, and Five had read it all multiple times. He knew it page for page, word for word. He probably knew it better than Vanya does. It had been the only thing, besides some of their bodies, that let Five know what his family was like from the day he'd left to the day of Vanya writing the book. It gave him an insight into everything he had missed in a minute. Told him what to expect for returning, too. 

They had been close as a family when they were younger, before Reginald tried to play them off against one another, split them up. They had played games and sneaked out, gossiped, fought. And then, of course, Diego got angry, Allison got selfish, Luther sucked up to Reginald, Klaus fell into more drugs than just weed, Vanya was split, Five disappeared, and Ben died. They all changed and, it seemed, for the worse. 

Five would rather the shambles of his family than their corpses any day. He spent every waking moment in which he wasn't fighting to survive, to getting back. His powers wouldn't bend to his will so easily like they usually would, and the equations just always seemed off ever so slightly. He had, of course, considered giving up many times; when he had to endure the deathly winters and the murderous summers, when he found no food or clean water, and he was at his wits end. But he knew that he had to get back and, if nothing else, he had to save his family.

They had changed a lot, and so had Five. It would be childish of him to say that he missed the years before he had ran away, before they had grown up. Too childish for a fifty-eight year old, so he wouldn't admit it; he'd keep it to himself. But he does. He misses that time, and sometimes he wonders, if he had never ran away, he could've stopped it all; could've stopped Ben's death, Klaus' drop into drugs, the breaking of their family. He'll never know, though, and all he can do is stick in the present.

He had, truthfully, been terrified when he had gone back for Klaus. What if his powers failed and he got stuck back in the apocalypse, or with Klaus, or some time else in history. He had been scared, and he still feels shaky and worn out from doing it, although he doesn't regret it at all. Not when he saw the sheer relief and hope flood Klaus' expression when he dropped onto his knees above the hole and found him. 

He spares a glance at him now, looking up from his book of quantum physics - one he began before running away and never got to finish. Of course, he understands everything in the book now, but he's determined to finish it. Klaus is dead asleep, breaths heavy, almost hidden beneath the blankets and curled tight next to Dave. 

He and Klaus had been close, too. Klaus had been willing to let Five bounce equations off him - and, although Five had never admitted it to anyone else, Klaus, on occasions, had watched him writing equations for his special jumps, and had correctly added in or taken off a number. When Five got too uptight, Klaus, somehow, managed to make him laugh at his horrific jokes. He had failed in getting Five to join him in smoking weed one night, a week before he had ran away. Five almost wishes he had, just for the sake of having one last, stupid, fun night with Klaus before everything went to shit. 

He sets the book aside, stands up, and hovers by the bed. They're both completely asleep, not flinching when Five rests a hand briefly on their foreheads. He sighs, lingering in the room and staring at them for a moment longer before he walks out the room quietly. He leaves the lights on - Klaus never was a fan of the dark, even as kids, and he doubts it's any better now - and seeks out the rest of his siblings, feeling slightly more calm now and no longer running the risk of punching anyone. 

He finds Diego in the kitchen still, and he can hear Luther talking to Allison in the living room. He goes to Diego first, leaning against the doorway.

"I'm calling a family meeting," he tells him. Diego turns around, hands twitching by his side.

"Yeah? Guess we better get this over with, then," he mutters. Five watches him walk past him and into the living room, telling Allison and Luther. Five's eyes flit to the window, and he catches Vanya sitting on the bench outside. He takes a step forward and, in a split second, the world crumbles away and rebuilds itself as he steps outside and next to Vanya.

"Family meeting," he tells her. "Why are you outside? It's freezing."

Vanya looks up at him, slightly startled, and then looks at her hands. "I.... I was just thinking," she says. 

"There's a lot to think about, I guess," he agrees. Vanya snorts.

"You could say that."

"A lot to think about," continues Five, "and a lot to talk about. Klaus and Dave are asleep again; they seem pretty out of it for the moment. I thought it's best we talk about everything now."

Vanya sighs, scrubbing her cheeks with her hands and then she nods and stands up. "Yeah. You're right; we ought to," she murmurs in agreement. He walks inside with her, through the kitchen and into the living room. Diego's taken his claim standing by the fire, Allison sitting tiredly next to Luther, notepad and pen in her loose grip, and Vanya takes a seat. Five remains standing. Luther stands up. 

"We've got a lot to talk about," Five says, eying them all. "Seriously. If one of you starts arguing, I'm going to put you on the roof of the Empire State building for the night. Now." He flexes his hands, throws a glance to the clock. It's just after ten. "Let's start with Klaus, since we don't know when he'll wake up again." 

He turns to the coffee table and the papers on them. He purses his lips, picking up one of the inky messes that one of the articles has turned into. "Huh. Interesting." He puts it back down. "Physically, we all know that he's poorly. He can't eat fast; don't let him, or Dave. Ideally, they shouldn't be walking much either; not with Klaus' broken ribs, too."

"Are we supposed to just, house this Dave too?" Diego asks, half jokingly.

"I'd think that all of his family are dead," states Five. "We don't know his and Klaus' relationship, but Klaus wasn't willing to leave him there. I'd guess that, if we were to make him leave, Klaus would leave with him. In their states, that's a death sentence for the both of them."

"He needs help too," Vanya comments quietly. Allison waves her hand to her in agreement, nodding her head gingerly. 

"Can't do more harm than putting Klaus on the streets again," Diego states with a shrug. He fiddles with a knife in between his fingers, eying the blade as it catches the firelight.

"Klaus is sober," Five states. "We ought to keep an eye on that unless we want him to relapse."

"He's sober?" Asks Luther. Five gives him a look.

"Of course he's sober. He was there for months. Not much of a chance of getting his hands on some LSD," he retorts. "But I also don't think he'll be able to go find any drugs unless they're in this house," he adds pointedly. Diego sighs slightly at that, nodding his head. Five inhales, as if bracing himself. "And, for the love of God, try not to be an asshole? I think that should go without saying."

"We know what he went through, Five," Diego says. "We're not going to go around shouting at him."

Five raises his eyebrows dubiously, looking away. "You might think you're better than us, but you've not exactly built his confidence up either."

"That was when he was high as a kite and had broken a snow globe with his own head," Five drawled, rolling his eyes. "I'd like to imagine I shouldn't need to say that, but we've not exactly got a good reputation of caring for one another, or for talking about our feelings."

"Do you think he'll want to talk about it?" Vanya asks, glancing up. Everyone shares a glance. Five shrugs.

"Maybe. Probably not to any of us, though. Again; no good track record for family bonding."

"Should we think of getting him - them - a therapist?" Vanya asks seriously. 

"And tell them what?" Diego snorts. "He time travelled back to the Holocaust; can you help him deal with that?"

"Well... yeah," murmurs Vanya, cheeks flushing red slightly. 

"It's not like any of us are emotional enough to talk to him about that," Five points out, face deadpan. "But... and I say this as genuinely as I can, as uncomfortable as emotions might make you; he needs us. And we owe it to him to be there."

Silence, thick and heavy, hangs around them all as they all look guiltily down at their hands or their feet. Diego swallows and nods. "Yeah. Of course."

"Now; on the other hand, we have Vanya," says Five, sparing her a glance. Vanya's cheeks warm slightly and she looks down. "With her powers."

"Are we even sure of what they are?" Luther asks, looking at Vanya. Vanya fiddles with her sleeves.

"I... I'm not entirely sure," she admits. 

"What happened when you first used them?" Five asks. 

"I... I think it was with my violin, the first time. It was the sound, I think." She looks guiltily at Allison. "It was always with sound."

Five's fingers scratch thoughtfully along his jaw, his lips pressed tightly together. "Maybe some form of energy, then. Sound waves? Is it just your violin, or any sound? And, how controllable is it?"

"Dad obviously put her on the pills for a reason," Luther states.

"He has got a small point, for once," Diego agrees. "If it's uncontrollable, then we ought to think about how we can... help her not go nuclear until she can control it, right?"

"Control what?"

Everyone startles at the new voice. Five turns quickly to see Klaus standing in the doorway, one pale, scarred hand on the door frame, the other clutching his blankets. He looks exhausted, shadows prominent beneath his eyes.

"Klaus, what are you doing?" Luther asks.

"You should be resting," says Diego. Klaus waves his hand dismissively.

"What're you talking about?" He asks. No one answers immediately. Diego sighs, coming up to his side. They pretend not to notice the way Klaus flinches when Diego puts his hand on his shoulder and guides him forwards to sit on the couch. 

"Some... things happened while you were away," he says. Klaus raises an eyebrow.

"Like?"

"Vanya has powers," says Five with a shrug. 

"What?" Klaus sits up, blinking widely and seeming suddenly much more awake than he was previously. "Seriously?" He turns his gaze to Vanya, who simply nods. "Oh, shit. That's, uh, that's great! What is it?" 

"We're trying to figure out the specifics now," Five tells him. 

"Can you show me?" Klaus asks with a hesitant, uneasy smile, as if he isn't quite sure how to do it genuinely. 

"No," Luther says quickly. "She's too dangerous with them."

Klaus looks at Vanya. He looks at Allison. "Oh. Right," he murmurs. "So... Dad's pills then?"

"Were to suppress them," Five confirms, nodding. 

"We're debating whether or not she should go back on them until we know what we're dealing with," says Diego. Klaus presses his lips together.

"What does Vanya think?" He asks. Vanya looks up, a little startled. "It is about Vanya, after all."

Vanya looks aside. "Oh, uh... I'm not sure," she admits. "I... I can't control it. I don't know how. I... maybe I should. I don't want to hurt anyone else." Her hands curl into tight fists, shaking on her lap, her lips pressed tight together. 

Klaus reaches a hand up to scratch his cheek, then rest it on the palm of his hand. "I don't think going cold turkey with them either is the best for you or your powers," he states. "Might be part of the reason they're so intense - if they are, anyway. It'd be healthier to ween you off them." He opens his mouth as if to continue only for no sounds to come out. He looks down at his hands, then looks away. "Welcome to the club, then," he adds awkwardly. He lets his eyes roam over everyone, pressing his lips together. 

For a moment the image of him, shivering in a snow and mud-filled hole flashes in Five's mind again. Wide eyed, shocked, crying, covered in blood that isn't his. Terrified.

Five blinks heavily as if able to dislodge the memory and dismiss it, but it clings on. For some reason, he feels as if he expected Klaus to make a full, immediate recovery. He would be brought back to 2019 with muscle and fat on his bones, glitter-messed hair on his head, free of bruises and scars. Of course, though, that didn't happen. 

"It's got to hurt," Five says, looking at Klaus, "pulling out that IV each time you get up."

Klaus raises an eyebrow, looking down at his elbow and down at the back of his hand. "Oh? Well, yeah," he says with a breathy laugh. "Not the first time I've had to," he states. "It pissed off every doctor when they realised I would take it out and jump out the window as soon as I was alone, let me tell you." For a moment, the old memories bring a small smile to Klaus' face. There was nothing written about Klaus' hospital stays in Vanya's book - no details about any, anyway - but he always had hated hospitals. Five doesn't doubt that no IV or no restraints could keep him in one. Five snorts.

"Of course," he utters. Silence stretches. 

"We ought to see if there's any of those pills still here, then," Luther states, clearing his throat. "Pogo or Grace should know."

"Right," says Five, looking to Vanya who hesitantly nods, then repeats the gesture more dfirmly. They stand up, those who weren't already on their feet, and, like an army, they march out of the living room to find either Pogo or Grace. Klaus stays in the living room, eyes watching the fire crackle until it makes his eyelids heavy until they slide shut and he slumps at an awkward angle on the couch.

They find Grace first, clearing up the remnant's of Klaus' feast in the kitchen. She looks up as they enter together, smiling. "Can I help you with something?" She asks. "Do you want dinner?"

"No," says Luther, shaking his head. "We, uh, we need to know if dad kept any of Vanya's pills around here."

"Her anxiety medication? Oh, yes, they should be around somewhere. Give me a minute and I'll go find some for you," Grace replies in a happy hum and when she leaves the kitchen, passing Vanya, she squeezes her arm and disappears upstairs.

"Do you think she knew?" Vanya asks, suddenly quiet.

"What?"

"Do you think she knew about it? About me?" She repeats. Diego presses his lips together.

"Dad would have programmed it out of her," he mumbles, something sad in his voice. Vanya nods, though it's tense, jerky, her jaw locked together. 

"We'll put you back on your regular dose for a while," says Five, lifting his voice. "Then decrease it. Monitor you. We'll have to go through dad's notes, see if we can find his notes on how he trained you before, I guess."

Vanya nods. She looks sad, scared, as Grace returns with a bottle of pills, handing it over. She stares at the label for a long time and, other than the sound of Grace's shoes tapping as she finishes cleaning, no one else makes a sound. Vanya twists the top off, shakes two pills onto her hand, and swallows them dry. She hands the pills out and, when no one else moves, Five reaches out to take the small bottle. 

"When did you usually take them?" He asks.

"Two in the morning. If it was bad, then two more."

Five nods, looking at the label crafted to lie to her for her life. He wonders if Reginald just intended for her to take the pills until the day she died, or if he knew, one day, that she would find out. Either option was equally as likely with Reginald. He wonders what might have happened had Reginald never done this. He wonders what might have triggered him to do it.

He puts the pills in his pockets, trusting himself to keep a hold of them for Vanya. 

"Right, then," he says, smoothing his hands down his jumper. "Dad's notes, I suppose."

"I'll go look," says Luther, straightening up slightly. Allison straightened up with him, and the two left together, footsteps retreating upstairs to their dad's office. 

"I'll go check on Klaus," Diego mutters. He stalks out the room, heading back into the living room where Klaus still is, curled awkwardly on the couch, head on his knees, blankets slightly slipping down his shoulders. He crosses the room and rests a hand on his shoulder lightly. He opens his mouth to try and call him awake, but at the lightest shake Klaus wakes up. A slurred 'sorry' falls from his lips and he immediately gets to his feet all before his eyes have even fully opened. Diego raises an eyebrow slightly, waiting until Klaus' eyes settle onto him and for realisation to seep into him again. 

"Hey," says Diego, voice quiet, almost getting caught in his throat. "Let's get you to bed, huh?"

Klaus blinks at him, looks at the couch, then he nods. He doesn't say anything as Diego sets a hand on his narrow back, guiding him through the house and back to the infirmary. He watches Klaus clamber gingerly back into bed beside Dave, who stirs enough to stare at Klaus, then the surroundings, and then he lifts the blankets for Klaus to crawl under. He does so, shuffling ever closer until he slumps into the bed. Diego sees a seat pulled beside their bed and he slumps into it, moving the book on quantum physics aside. The sight of it makes his lips quirk upwards slightly. 

For all Five seems to be all bark, all bite, a raging, sarcastic, no tolerance for bullshit stuffed into a five-foot-two, thirteen year old body, he's still all soft and loving on the inside. 

He stays there for a while. Long enough that he almost begins to doze off in the seat as well, head drooping every so often only for him to jerk it back up, rub furiously at his eyes, and do it again. He's in the process of groaning, doubled over and rubbing his eyes when Five appears in the doorway.

"We've found a few notes," he says. It's dark outside, and surely an ungodly hour. Diego thinks they all ought to call it a night and head to bed already. He's exhausted from the events of today, of Hazel's sudden appearance, the ever-burning anger following Eudora's murder, the revelation of Klaus' time travel, getting him back, Allison's cut throat and Vanya's powers. The past two days seem to blur together, unclear where one starts and one ends. He's exhausted. 

"Should we not just call it a night?" He asks groggily. Five rolls his eyes.

"You could. Or you could be an active member of this family."

"Fuck off, kid," Diego bites. Five smirks ever so slightly. 

"Do whatever you want, Diego. There's not much we can do in terms of training Vanya today, anyway. Allison's gone to bed, too. Vanya probably will. You ought to. We can pick it up in the morning."

Diego bobs his head in a nod, then turns to face Klaus and Dave for a brief moment.

"He's exhausted. They'll both be out all night," Five assures him. Diego toys with his lip briefly before sighing and nodding.

"All right. Yeah, okay. Just get me if anything happens. Try and get some rest too." 

"Night, Diego."

Five watches him walk out, hears his footsteps going upstairs. He lingers in the doorway, casting a glance back to Klaus and Dave. Then, with a sigh, he settles back into his chair, finds his book, and opens it to his previous page.

He opens his eyes to the last few rays of moonlight filtering in through the windows. If not for the dim lamps still on in the room, it probably would have been almost pitch black in the room. 

He feels exhausted. He always feels exhausted. He can't remember a day where he's woken up, bright-faced and greeting the new day. 

He sits up slowly, holding the blankets that threaten to slip off of him. For a moment, he isn't quite sure where he is, the place and the feelings all unfamiliar; the warmth, the comfort, the quiet. And then he remembers quickly and he breathes out a sigh of relief. Evidently, it's early in the morning; early enough one could possibly still argue that it's not early, but rather just very late. He knows what time it is without glancing towards a telling clock.

Five's there. It surprises him when he turns his face and his eyes fall on his brother, sitting in a chair next to the bed, a book on his lap, his chin on his chest, breathing evenly in sleep. He looks peaceful, looks young. He doesn't look as stressed as he always does nowadays. It's nice to see.

Silently, carefully, Klaus wiggles his way out of bed. Dave stirs next to him, blinking his eyes open. "Roll-call?" He asks in a hushed whisper, only to blink, look around, and relax. Klaus offers him a smile, leaning closer to him. "I'm just stretching," he says, in a whisper again from habit. "I'll be right back. Go back to sleep," he coaxes. Dave hesitates, reaches out to take Klaus' hand and then place it against his own cheek. Klaus smiles, a wavering, watery thing, and strokes Dave's sharp cheekbone with his thumb until Dave bring his hand down enough to hesitantly, uncertainly, ghost his lips over. Klaus squeezes his hand and Dave lets go, nods, and closes his eyes.

Silently, Klaus takes a few steps around, and then he pads out of the infirmary. For a moment he simply lingers in the hallway outside. He can hear the crackle of the fire still roaring gently in the living room, and he can hear the wind brush over the walls and the windows outside. He feels quite like a ghost as the house sleeps and he doesn't. He ghosts his hands over the old marble pillars. He opens trophy cabinets and closes them just because he can. He picks up an umbrella by the front door, twirls it in his hands, and sets it down again. His feet carry him through the house again, into the kitchen. He looks at the dining table and he remembers which seat is whose, remembers waiting behind them for Reginald to allow them to sit, remembers rolling blunts beneath the table as if Reginald cared enough that Klaus had to hide it from him. 

The dining table is clean from his sudden feast yesterday, untouched. If not for seeing Dave and Five, Klaus might fear that he truly is a ghost, and so many years have passed. The Academy is now empty, without Reginald, without Luther, Diego, Allison, Five, Vanya. Grace either keeps it all dusted perfectly, talking to herself every day, or she's sat by her wall of paintings, eyes dull. Maybe she shut herself down, or maybe Pogo did. Pogo will be gone, too. The Academy will remain, and Klaus will wonder its halls, and he'll relive moments that happened and moments that never did. It'll grow old, spiders taking home and building cobwebs here and there. Maybe some windows will get smashed, some stuff stolen, some graffiti sprayed around the place. Klaus might sit in his old, dusty bedroom from his childhood, and reread all the writing he scribbled on the walls years ago. Or he might sit in the courtyard, underneath that old oak tree, and watch the branches strip naked in the winter and bloom again, and he won't move for a long time. 

Now, though, Klaus skirts around the table. He drags a finger along it. No dust comes off of it. 

He goes to the doors leading to the courtyard. They're unlocked and he pushes them open with ease. It's cold, of course, with a biting breeze. Without shoes, the dirt and the stones dig into the soles of his feet, they freeze his toes, and he curls them into the ground. The old oak tree rustles gently with the breeze, a few leaves shaking loose and dancing like ballerinas to the ground to rest. 

It seems no one bothered to clean up after Ben's statue, for the heavy head still lays, broken, discarded on the floor, in amongst dirt and leaves, with a spider crawling in long stretches across his eyes, and another one on the jagged cut of his neck. Klaus settles onto one of the benches outside. It's damp, cold, seeping through the blanket wrapped around himself, and he doesn't pay to it much mind.

He's exhausted. He can't remember a day where he wasn't. He knows, however, just like Dave knows, that he won't be able to get back to sleep. The comfort, the warmth and the quiet of the inside don't bode well with him at this early morning hour. It's wrong. A too-stark contrast to the normal that his life has gotten used to. At this time in the morning, Klaus ought to be standing outside, with no fluffy blanket. He ought to be standing with a burn in his legs, a shake in his knees, with uniformed men yelling at him and at the people around him, occasionally reaching out to hit, to punch, to spit, to beat on any one of them. He ought to be trying not to be the next one on the floor, to be holding up the unconscious man next to him. He ought to be seeing stars on the floor, but here he only sees them in the sky above him. 

He cranes his head up to them. They shine, solid and burning, bright against the dark sky. The sun has yet to rise. In the back of his mind, Klaus had always enjoyed the sunrises when he wasn't working in the mines and he got the chance to see them. He couldn't actively pay attention to them, sure, but the early morning sun and the sound of birds had always been nice. He was always too high or asleep to appreciate it before. 

A shadow moves beside him. He comes forwards, all silent for most, for ghosts are silent to everyone except for Klaus. 

"It's freezing," says Ben to his left. "You should go back inside, Klaus. You must be exhausted."

He is. And at the same time, he can't fall asleep. Sitting down will have to be enough. 

Klaus isn't irrational; not all the time, anyway. Not right now. He knows he's home, he knows he's safe. He knows he can do what he wants, say what he wants, wear what he wants, go where he wants. He can eat what he wants, when he wants; do anything when and where he wants to. 

He also knows, however, that if he does, he might get shot. Beat. Flogged. Starved. Hung. Surviving on survival instincts makes him not want to push it. People are capable of anything. Klaus knows this, now. And so he will be careful, and he won't push his luck. 

"Klaus, please." Ben sits next to him. He can see him from the corner of his eye. He doesn't look at him, though, not properly. 

"Have you ever watched the sun rise?" Klaus asks him instead.

"I've seen a few," Ben admits. "Whenever I was waiting for you to wake up."

"They're nice. It's worth the hypothermia, I think. You know, it was beautiful there, some days. Weather that Allison would have loved. Blue skies, sunsets and sunrises that you would have loved. In Autumn, it was gorgeous; with all the reds and yellows and golds of the leaves. In Winter, too. It was just too hard to notice it in Winter; not at the time. No stupid buses, honking all the time, and no stupid people rushing to get on a train for work. It was ordered. It was pretty. You could get lost in it, sometimes. Forget what the smoke in the sky was. Forget where you were."

"Klaus..."

"Not like the city at all. We ought to travel more. There's a whole world out there."

"Klaus..."

Klaus sighs. At first, when the days had been sunny, cloudless, hot, it had made Klaus sick. There were people being beat and murdered all over the place, and yet the sun shone on them like it only should at a beach on vacation. There were no clouds in the sky as it should be when one goes out to have a picnic. It was hot enough he almost tanned, had he not been working in the mines so much. How could something so horrible be so pretty? He had hated it until he learned to love it. The place could not be blamed for the acts going on around it. The sun did not choose to shine on Auschwitz. He learned to simply be grateful for the few things that weren't so horrific there. They weren't mocking, but a blessing he was grateful to see, to break the monochromatic blur of each day.

The doors open. Someone shuffles out, barefoot, clad in blankets, wobbly and uncertain. Dave comes up to his side and settles, hip to hip, on the bench next to him.

"Can't sleep?" Klaus asks. He knows.

"It's time," says Dave quietly.

"It would have been time," returns Klaus. "I can't either."

Dave follows his gaze upwards to the star. Absently, Dave's fingers brush over his chest where a yellow star once had resided. He looks down at his lap, at the blankets draped over his legs. Klaus breaks his gaze with the stars to turn to Dave, and he struggles to get his hand out from beneath the blankets. He holds it palm up, fingers spread, and Dave pushes his hand free of his own blankets to place it on Klaus', fingers intertwined. 

"We'll be fine," Klaus tells him. It feels easy to say when he knows where he is, when he has his family around him. It feels hard to say when he closes his eyes and hears dogs barking, the crack of a whip, a man choking on his own blood. 

Dave squeezes his hand. He feels Dave run his thumb over the scar on the back of his hand, tracking it from one corner to the other. Klaus returns his attention to the stars above. 

He wonders what God thinks of him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Klaus' POV to start a chapter, but I just fit it in here instead. Hopefully you enjoyed it; I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I'm rather busy atm and things are Tough with a capital T so writing takes a bit longer than usual, but enjoy! Luther may be a furry but even furries can be redeemed.

The sun crawls slowly up the sky like some lethargic spider, stretching out across the horizon, casting a cool glow across the courtyard. They sit there for quite some time, lost among their thoughts, basking in the peace of sitting, undisturbed, unrushed, as the sun rises. There's no urgency, no yelling, no herding, no disruption. They can sit there and listen as birds begin to stir and sing their morning calls, fluttering from tree to tree. No consequences come from sitting there. The discomfort that came from being able to bask in the peace when he was so used to urgency, threats, exhaustion, and order, and how resting goes against his instincts now, drifts away to the point that both Klaus and Dave can slump in relief, breathe a little more freely, and shake free the feeling of encroaching fear, and simply, truly relax for a moment. 

It's still cold, though, and it burns his fingers and his toes, the tips of his ears, and makes both himself and Dave shiver, the familiar motion going largely unacknowledged by them. 

"Klaus?" Says Dave, quiet. Klaus hums, pulling his gaze towards him. "What happens to ghosts?"

"What?" Klaus returns, slightly startled. 

"You told me, a while ago, that you can see ghosts. What happens to them? Do they just... stay?"

Klaus presses his lips together, taking a moment to eye Dave. There's something lonely in his eyes, mournful and grieving, and Klaus squeezes his hand. He witnessed Louise die on the train there, and, despite being split from Amalie during the selection upon arrival and not seeing her since, they both know what happened to her. 

"I never saw them," Klaus lies softly. He had seen Louise. He had never seen Amalie. "They... a lot go somewhere else. They don't stick around. They move on."

Dave swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "That's good," he murmurs. Klaus nods. 

"It is. They're fine now." At the very least, he can only hope that Amalie was gone swiftly and didn't suffer. Klaus feels a guilt twist his guts almost nauseatingly. Dave's left with no family, thrust into an unfamiliar time, lost and hurt. And Klaus, who was never supposed to be there in the first place, is still alive when both of his sisters died. It ought to be them with him, together as a family. Not Klaus, some outsider, a simple coincidence. 

He turns his head to the sun again. He stares at it until he hears the doors groan open to his right, and Dave's slumped, asleep, against him, and Klaus feels like he's blinked hours away. Diego's there, poking his head out around the door and looking mildly concerned, only to relax a fraction once his eyes settle on them. He comes out, eyebrows furrowing. "Klaus?" He says. "What are you doing out here? It's freezing. Come inside," he says, eying him and Dave on the bench. For a moment Klaus considers just not moving, considers just ignoring him. For a moment, he has the urge to yell at him to just _fuck off _for no real reason. Instead, though, he simply sighs, shakes Dave awake, and they trudge in after him.

Everyone, except for Five, is sitting in the dining room, while Grace lays out breakfast for them all. They all pretend not to notice their eyes on them. They sit down, warmth from the house wrapping around them like a hug. What Grace sets in front of him and Dave for breakfast isn't the same as everyone else's; a smaller portion, less harsh on the stomach, and Klaus stares down at his serving. He doesn't feel hungry; not after stuffing his mouth last night. In fact, he feels rather sick if anything, and he supposes he probably should have eaten less and done so slower, but he had been starving. Technically still is, but his throat feels heavy with the idea of swallowing, his stomach twisting, bubbling. He takes a small bite of his food after, and only after, everyone else has averted their gaze and too begun to eat, only to be physically unable to swallow it and for bile to threaten his throat, and he spits it back out, swallowing against the sudden bile rising up. He puts his fork down with a clatter, moves his hand over his mouth, and rides out the wave of violent nausea. It'd happened before, of course; usually after visiting Hedwig and having real food for the day, and he simply had to deal with it in the same fashion as he does now.

"Are you okay?" Vanya asks, hesitant. Klaus swallows one last time and then nods, waving his other hand. 

"Fine. Fine," he dismisses. He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, then scratches his cheek and slumps into the seat. He spares a glance at Dave beside him, poking gingerly at his food, nibbling slowly at it. He catches Klaus' eyes and they exchange a silent, chaste look, a twitch of the eyebrow, slanted lips, glint in the eye, and it feels like the non-physical version of having an arm around himself. He waits until Dave's food-picking turns even more infrequent until he's done, and then he stands up. 

"We need to get some clothes," he murmurs, and Dave nods in eager agreement. "And a bath." He keeps his gaze only on Dave, ignoring the rest of his siblings as they sit in awkward silence, grasping for the right words to say rather than offering a normal conversation, and so Klaus is eager to turn and shuffle out, leaving them all behind him. He guides his way out of the kitchen and towards the staircase, and their pace slows rather drastically as they ascend them. Despite feeling more rested than he has in a long time, the stairs remind him that his legs are tired and weak, even if he goes slowly and digs his nails into the banister.

He's desperate for a bath. For some clean, warm water, to scrub away at the dirt still clinging to his skin. Evidently Grace had cleaned away the majority of the dirt and blood upon himself and Dave, but not in the sense of standing beneath a shower or in a bath and scrubbing away at every inch of tainted skin with soap. No doubt he still reeks of a forest floor and a pit of corpses, although he's become rather desensitised to gag-inducing stenches by now himself.

They go into the nearest bathroom at the top of the stairs and Klaus grabs two towels and lays them across the radiator to warm them up, an old habit he used to do lifetimes ago. He doesn't bother closing the door behind them, because closing doors is out of the question in regards to what he can and can't do. He goes up to the bath, plugs it and lets the water tumble out of it, crashing against the tub. The sound makes him cringe. He leans on the edge of the tub and looks to Dave, leaning against the wall and looking around the bathroom. Klaus tries not to. He doesn't want to look around and realise how unfamiliar it all is; and not just the Academy's bathroom, but any modern bathroom. With clean porcelain and mirrors and warm, soft towels, proper plumbing, a real toilet. He forces himself to watch the water rain down into the tub instead, watches steam rise. He grabs a nearby bottle of bubble mix and pours a generous amount into it. 

"The beds up here are better than the infirmary, too," Klaus comments, bringing Dave's attention to him. "My room's a bit of a mess, though."

Dave quirks a small smile at that. "Childhood bedroom?" He asks. Klaus nods.

"Untouched. You'll get an insight into my thirteen year old brain," he says jokingly. He stops the water as it nears the top of the bathtub, pokes his finger past the surface, and then he stands, drops the blankets, and steps through the bubbles to sit among them. He can't help the sigh that leaves his lips as sudden warmth creeps into his aching bones, and he relishes in it for a moment and then gestures Dave over. "I'll get your back," he says, eyebrow raised slightly. 

Dave comes close, setting his own blankets aside, and Klaus offers a hand to help steady him as he clambers in, a mess of spindly, long limbs knocking against one another before disappearing beneath mounds of bubbles. A look of relief slips over his face as he leans back against the tub, wrapping his arms around his torso. "I was never one for baths," Dave admits. 

"Hm?"

"Prefer showers. More convenient."

"Maybe so," replies Klaus, "but this is more relaxing."

Dave hums his agreement. Klaus tips his head back, eyes closed. Klaus simply relishes in the almost-burning heat of the bath, the feeling of the water rising up to his chest, hot and clean, not frigid cold and causing his clothes to cling to his body, soaked. He parts the bubbles with his fingers, watches them cling to his skin and then fall back to the water and melt into the surface, and then, with some reluctance, he forces himself to look around for one of the body sponges, and he began to scrub away at his skin; his hands, first, and his fingers, and then up his forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest and stomach, back up to his neck, tracing bubbles up to his jaw, and then he shifts slightly to scrub along his hips and down his thighs, scrubbing away dirt and grime and some kind of dirt Klaus thinks might not, technically, be dirt, but other than being dirty, he isn't sure what it actually is. By the time his skin's pink and tender, the water's filthy, murky and gross. He runs more clean water, pulling the plug to drain the dirty water out at the same time. As it refills, he offers Dave the sponge and watches idly as he scrubs away at himself with the same unnecessary intensity that Klaus had. 

He reaches his back and Klaus gestures for him to turn around, taking the sponge from him again. He soaks it in the soapy water and brings it up his back, following his sharp spine and jagged shoulders, the old bruises still staining his skin, random little scars gained from falling and beatings, littered across his body like scattered pink marks, varying in size and reason. He ghosts his fingertips over them subtly, traces them with uneven, overgrown nails, and then forces his attention back to scrubbing Dave's back clean. 

He sets the sponge aside and they sit there for a silent few minutes, Klaus lingering one of his hands on his back. He feels warm for the first time in a long time, Klaus thinks. Since that night Klaus fell into his bookshop and his hands had turned his head this way and that as he cleaned the blood from his ears leftover from Hazel and Cha-Cha's torture. He feels slightly less like a corpse now, and Klaus has a burning desire to just touch him, have a hand on his side or his back or his shoulders, his wrist or his arm, to sit thigh-to-thigh, to grab him and cling onto him, feel his skin warm, heart beating, lungs breathing. He feels like if he lets go, puts space between them, Dave will disappear like dust and the world will crumble around him and one, or maybe both of them, will both be dead, and alone, so utterly alone. 

"Your room," says Dave. "Will you show me it?"

Klaus offers a small smile from behind him. "Yeah. Yeah, c'mon." 

They stand up, grappling the edge of the tub, and Klaus hands Dave a towel, and, with a towel wrapped around his hips in a similar fashion to the time Hazel kidnapped him, he leads the way to his bedroom, with it's many, many lamps and fairy lights, burnt-out candles, blankets and cushions and an old Ouija board, all the nonsensical writing and drawings on the walls, a fifteen year old empty bottle of vodka he never threw out, and a bong he had stopped hiding at some point. 

Klaus hesitates at the side of it. 

The ghosts, of course, have been a constant, only disappearing on the days Klaus was either on the verge of passing out or on the verge of death (both were equally possible and, at some point, it got hard to differentiate the two) when it seemed he was too incoherent to even see them. Or, sometimes, they simply looked exactly as the living people did, so he was never really sure who was a ghost and who wasn't. It was like having a constant ringing in his ears, a constant blot in his sight, the constant feeling of being followed, poked, hands ghosting over him, leaving him with a habit of looking over his shoulders, in his peripherals, of his shoulders and cheeks and fingers twitching in discomfort. He feels like he's in a state of disassociation when he regards them, feels as if he's one of them. At the same time, he remembers, now, with frightening vividness, how active the ones in the Academy are. And they'll come soon. 

He knows he has three different stashes of different drugs in this room. 

He turns to Dave, offers a twitching smile, and waves his hands around the room. "My humble abode," he says. "Untouched from my child years."

Dave hums, looking around. "You have a lot of lights," he comments. 

"Yeah. Not a fan of the dark," he reminds, and Dave nods, lips parted slightly. With that, Klaus turns a few on; the fairy lights opposite his bed, the lamp on his bedside table, the lamp in the far corner.

"It's... very you," he says, continuing to look around. Klaus smiles slightly. It was very him, back then. He turns his attention to the bed and realises that there's two sets of warm, fluffy-looking grey sweats, and he offers one set to Dave. He watches Dave accept it gratefully, running his fingers over the fluffy interior, the thick fabric, as if touching something new, something foreign, before pulling them on with careful movements. Klaus lingers. He looks at the clothes - they must be some of the spares they keep in the infirmary - and he rubs the fabric between his thumb and his forefinger, then throws a brief glance to his wardrobe. He knows, though, he has few clothes here - what with running away and never having a lot of clothes on his person, let alone enough to leave in a wardrobe - and he knows, too, that whatever clothes he might have will either be sheer or leather. No longer skin tight, but not exactly made for comfort, either. 

He pulls the grey sweats on, tying the pants tightly around his hips, and then he gravitates towards his bed again, falling down onto the mattress, turning onto his stomach, and dropping his head onto the pillow. He opens his arms, waggling his fingers until Dave comes and settles next to him, laying down close enough for Klaus to throw an arm over his stomach, stretching out. "How are you feeling?" He asks, voice quiet, muffled. He feels Dave's chest heave with a heavy breath that hitches slightly in his throat.

"I'm... not sure," he admits in a murmur. He places a hand over Klaus'. "I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to do now."

Klaus hums his acknowledgement. Being so thoroughly torn out of _there _still has him reeling slightly, and he can't imagine it's any better for Dave, pulled from his time, forced to acknowledge inhuman abilities, unnatural things, the idea of the future, and that's without the add on of everything _else._

"Rest," says Klaus. He's never really been great with words or with comfort, and, truthfully, he isn't sure what he should say to him; what can he say to so easily soothe all the wounds he has. There isn't any words to say. "Heal, for a while. Live." He doesn't dare risk a glance up to see his face and the expression's he's undoubtedly wearing, so he keeps his eyes screwed tight shut, face turned slightly into the pillow beneath his cheek. 

"Live," repeats Dave, more so to himself, and Klaus squeezes his hand, interlocking their fingers.

"Mhmm," he says. "Live. Do whatever you want. I'd, uh... of course, you can stay here, of course. I'd, uh, if you wanted to stay here, I'd, you know, be happy with that."

Dave hums, a small smile on his face at that, slightly amused. He glances down at him. "I'd love to," he murmurs. His eyes slip shut, head tilted towards him, and Klaus lifted his other hand up, sating the urge to just feel him, running his thumb along his cheek, fingertips dancing along his skin. He's gained some more colour at least, compared to how deathly pale he was before. Klaus closes his eyes. Dave's breathing evens out and, eventually, so does Klaus'.

Klaus has never been a good sleeper, and exhausted as he may be, his body seems to have no intentions of changing that. He wakes up before Dave, surely after only an hour or two, maybe, and so he pries himself from Dave very careful, very gently, moving slowly until he can slide out of bed without making a single sound, without waking him up. He lingers by the side of the bed, watching the way Dave's nose twitches and his hands curl into the blankets around him, and Klaus ghosts a hand over his back. Then he pulls the blanket up him a little higher, and, with silent steps, he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Ben is quick to glide to his side as soon as he's out. Klaus knows he's anxious, like a pet with separation anxiety, and that trying to talk to him at the moment must be more infuriating than trying to talk to him while he's still rolling on molly, but he finds that, even more than usual, he doesn't care. He appreciates Ben's concern, but he doesn't want it. The only thing he might want is the only thing Ben can't offer - physical contact. 

So they walk in silence. In silence until Klaus follows the itch beneath his skin and he walks into the bathroom. He still feels dirt on himself, still expects to see dirt under his nails and ash on his arms, and it's almost maddening. He'll reach for something absentmindedly and he'll see his hand move like a shadow, dark and filthy, only to properly look and to see it clean. He hears dogs barking and hears the crack of a bullwhip or a gun in the distance, only, of course, it's non-existent. Also, of course, the smell. It had been one of the first things he noticed as he was urged off the train, though he hadn't had time to dwell on it. The smell of burning bodies was a distinct smell, and it lingered in his nose despite the amount of perfume he stole and used from the bathroom.

He steps into the doorway. His eyes roam over the bathroom, the sink (not the mirror, he doesn't want to look into that mirror) and the bathtub, the toilet - and how could he forget how great a toilet could look? Compared to the toilets _there, _anyway - and the cabinets, the towel rack, all of it.

There were multiple jobs in the camp. Klaus had done a few of them. Cleaning the bathrooms had been one of his favoured jobs. The first sight of the bathrooms had been revolting; the smell overwhelming, the pure lack of hygiene disgusting, all of it - it had been a huge shock to his system. But compared to the other jobs he could be doing, that he had done, especially when it was raining and windy and cold, working in the bathroom had been one of the better jobs. He got to be indoors for a large part of the day. The SS were too disgusted to come inside - he only had to fear the Kapos instead, but as long as he worked, he could try and stay as low as possible. 

He crouches by the cabinet by the sink, reaching inside. He pulls out a sponge and some cleaning spray and, with the nervous tic of his cheek and a now-unnecessary glance over his shoulder, he stands and begins to clean the sink.

It's Luther that finds him, an intermediate amount of time later. Klaus had heard him coming of course, from the direction of Reginald's office, he thinks. He stops by at the door, watching Klaus bent over the bathtub, scrubbing at already-clean porcelain. 

"What are you doing?" Luther asks by the doorway.

"Cleaning," Klaus mumbles distractedly.

"Cleaning? You never clean."

"I do now." Klaus shrugs half heartedly. He stands up, back cracking, and turns to look at Luther. Luther lingers, conflict and confusion clearly written over his face. Klaus quirks an eyebrow. He leans back against the porcelain tub. "Are you waiting to tell me something?"

"I... don't know," Luther admits. Ben, whom had been quietly watching Klaus with a pinched expression, stands up a little more, but seems to bite back a comment when Luther sighs, glances away, back to Klaus, and steps inside. "Yes," he says. "I wanted to tell you that I am... sorry, Klaus. I'm sorry."

Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that. He blinks. "What? Why?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "For not noticing you were gone. For not helping sooner."

"Oh," says Klaus. Luther shifts awkwardly. Klaus' throat feels oddly tight. He doesn't blame Luther, of course; he can't. But the admission, and the apology no less, has Klaus feeling all kinds of emotional. He had thought about his family a lot, then. Had wanted nothing less than to be back here, back with his family, and now he feels as if he's dancing around them to avoid them and the elephant in the room. And he knows he can't blame them for not noticing immediately, and he doesn't, but he's just so grateful that they did. 

Luther and him had never been truly close. They had all been close as children, but after around twelve, thirteen, they had all drifted apart more so. Luther and Klaus had butted heads, always argued, never really gotten along as Klaus began to drink more and leave at nights, and Luther had worked to be Daddy's Best. But once, Klaus thinks, they had. Once upon a time, Klaus would have gone to Number One after his nightmares, because Number One was strong and Number One would protect them all. 

Klaus grits his teeth together as his eyes sting fiercely. He despises his childhood, but there are moments he longed to have back from it. 

"I - uh, did I say something wrong? Klaus? I'm sorry, I, uh, I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up," Klaus snorts tearfully, swinging his head side to side. He pushes himself off the edge of the tub and closes the distance between them and, before either Luther can say something or he can hesitate and stop himself, he wraps his arms around him, head resting against his chest. He can't remember the last time he ever hugged Luther. He must have been ten, if not younger. 

Luther stiffens beneath him, expecting it just as much as Klaus had, but then he relaxes a little. Hesitantly, he lifts his arms, wrapping them around Klaus in return. It's comforting; the size and the weight of Luther like a shield, and starkly different to any contact he'd had with anyone else in the past few months, all thin and skin and bones. Klaus' fingers tighten in the fabric of the jumper he's wearing, his eyes screwed shut almost painfully tight. He's home. He's home, with his mess of a family, that are trying, and he just feels so relieved. For the first time in a long time, he feels safe.

Luther waits for Klaus to be the one to pull away, wiping at his eyes. "Don't you go telling everyone that I just ugly cried on you," he mutters. "I have a reputation I need to uphold."

"I, uh, I won't," Luther offers. Klaus wonders if he's more panicky than Klaus is, wide eyed and uncertain on how to approach him, but still trying, and it's amusingly cute, almost. For a moment, he reminds him of his younger self, too, when they hadn't been butting heads all the time. 

"He's making progress," Ben comments, and Klaus snorts lightly, silently nodding his head. At least Ben's smiling instead of looking so damned infuriatingly worried. 

"Grace is making an early dinner," Luther says. "I think everyone would like to see you at the table."

"Yeah, I'll be there," Klaus assures him, drying the last of his tears. "Let me just see if Dave's awake."

Luther nods at him. He pauses with words on the tip of his tongue, and Klaus raises an eyebrow curiously at him. "Is he... a friend of yours?" He asks. Klaus' lips twitch slightly.

"He's definitely a friend," he replies. "I met him before it all. Stayed with him a couple of nights before. Was with him through it all." He looks down at his feet, remembers that first night so vividly, and smiles.

"If he's... you know, if he's more than that, we don't mind."

Klaus blinks. "What?"

"If you're... you know," says Luther sheepishly, cheeks warm.

"Gay?" He says, then looks at Ben. Luther swallows, nodding.

"That, yes, or - or anything else, I guess. Whatever. I'm not sure about... everything, but-"

"I get it, I get," Klaus says, cutting him off and waving his hand. "Oh, I do love you and envy your innocence, Luther," Klaus sighs. "Don't you worry yourself with labels - unless _you_ need to tell me something, then please do - but, yes, Luther. Dave and I are more than friends. I think." His face pinches in concern. "We never really cleared it up. Maybe we aren't. Whatever, whatever. I'll see if he's awake, then dinner, okay?" He waves him off again, then slips around him and out of the bathroom. He returns to his bedroom, peering inside. Dave hasn't moved an inch, still fast asleep, blankets bunched in front of them. Klaus smiles slightly and silently steps back, leaving him to rest while he can.

He finds Luther at the top of the stairs and he walks at the same pace as Klaus, still gripping carefully onto the banister. Good thing he is, too, for his knees buckle half way down the stairs, and Klaus is suddenly reminded of the time he _fell _down and broke his jaw, and he thinks it's only his luck that he's going to have to deal with a broken jaw on top of all of this - but then Luther catches him with quick reflexes and steadies him upright. He keeps an arm around him until they reach the kitchen, watching the way Klaus' legs shake - and perhaps bending stiffly to clean an already-clean bathtub wasn't his wisest decision when he can hardly stand for more than ten minutes without feeling light headed - and then lowers him into a seat, ignoring the looks from the rest of their siblings. 

Grace slides some food in front of him - small portions, gentle on the stomach - and squeezes his shoulder. Klaus waits until everyone else begins to eat before doing so, too.

"Are you feeling any better?" Vanya asks him, voice hesitant. Klaus quirks an eyebrow.

"I should be asking you that, I think," Klaus replies, eying his spoon. Vanya's cheeks warm.

"I'm... better," she responds. 

"Good," says Klaus, then eats what is on his spoon. He wonders how much more he can eat before his stomach protests inevitably. 

"And you?"

"Could do without waking up every two hours," Klaus admits sarcastically. 

"Dave asleep?"

"Mhmm. Not gonna wake him up if he's getting some rest." Klaus runs his finger tips over the table surface. He's sitting in his own seat. Force of habit, they all sit in their own seats after years; even Ben, though no one else can see him. Sometimes Ben takes to walking around while everyone eats, though. He said he feels weird watching them eat. "It's good he's resting," Klaus murmurs absently. Klaus knows he feels exhausted enough as it is, and not just physically, so he's not going to disrupt Dave when he manages to get some much needed rest. 

Klaus wonders what Dave's thinking. What he's thinking and not told Klaus, anyway. How he's really feeling, or if he thinks he's just delusional, hallucinating this all, but Dave's always been more rational a person than Klaus has ever been. Less prone to mental instability and hallucinations. Klaus could never. 

He picks at his food for a little longer before finding himself suddenly free of any appetite, but also simultaneously free of any motivation to get up and trudge back to bed. He slumps in the chair, twirling the spoon in his fingers. He feels bad, now, for leaving Grace to clean all that food that he'd left. Had he done that anywhere else, he'd be shot for disrespect. He shudders. He forces himself to move, standing up and moving to the sink. When Grace tries to take the bowl and tell him to sit back down, he dances from her grasp and says, a bit sharply, "no. I'll do it."

Grace lets him. He cleans it in the sink with hot water and soap, and cleans it after it's clean, and dries it with a towel and sets it carefully on the drying rack, trails of water dripping back down into the sink, sliding down the drain. 

"Klaus?" Asks one of his siblings - he isn't sure which one, the name distorted. He didn't realise it before, but he does now; it's odd to hear other people say his name. Had it not been for Dave and Elijah, he might have forgotten what it sounds like entirely. 

"Klaus?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

He realises he's still by the sink. His hands grip the edge of the counter, and his eyes read the messy, careless scrawl of a name on his forearm. _143,627. 143,627. _Not _Klaus. _

"Yes," he says. He pries his fingers off the counter as if he had been built into it, stiff like a statue, and he turns around, takes a step forwards, then jumps back, bashing his hip off the counter. He knew ghosts were coming, of course. Had been anticipating them after he'd gathered his bearings upon returning home. He had expected one of the nannies, perhaps, or _those _ones from the mausoleum, always so intent on following him. Not this one, not this emaciated teenager, whom he had told to find him not long ago at all. 

Elijah looks just as shocked as Klaus feels. 

Maybe he should have tried to get more sleep, because he's suddenly very tired, and suddenly on the floor. But the feeling of consciousness slipping away from him is familiar, now, intimate like a violent lover, and he recognises it quickly and, selfishly, he grasps onto it and wills everything darker quicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed this part and some Luther redemption! I stand by the fact that he's got potential to be the Biggest Big Brother, okay?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter fought me tooth and nail to get written, but I eventually did it; so enjoy

He's sitting against something. Propped up awkwardly against a warm wall which, upon opening his eyes, he realises the wall is actually just Luther sitting on the floor beside him, while Diego crouches opposite him, his eyebrows pinching together. He watches as Klaus cracks his eyes open, body twitching with the return of his consciousness. "Are you okay?" Diego asks him, tipping his head to the side. Klaus stares at him for a moment and then looks away, looks over his shoulder. 

Elijah looks rather lost. Weary, but he looks to Klaus with an intensity in his eyes. He's still in those rags that look wet with snow, stained with his own blood. He stall has dark bags beneath his eyes, still how he looked when he collapsed to the ground and begged Klaus to leave him. Up until now, he was able to just repress the memory and emotions; focus on being home, focus on Dave. But now he can feel him still beneath his hands, cold and crying, and dying alone, with no family, his hopes suddenly torn so violently from him. 

"Klaus?" He asks, and his voice is gentle and heart breaking. "Can you - can you _see_ me?"

"Klaus? Hey, can you look at me? How do you feel?"

"Klaus?"

"You passed out, Klaus." 

Klaus tips his head back, closing his eyes, lethargically lifting his hands up to press them against his ears. "Stop talking," he whines, fingertips scratching along his scalp. His siblings, surprisingly, comply, shutting up rather quickly. He almost revels in the brief peace he got, sucking in a deep breath, but he forces his hands down from his ears, forces his eyes open, and looked over Diego's shoulder.

He's still there, wringing his blood slick hands, looking sheepish and uncertain. Klaus tips his head in a small nod. 

"You said to find you - you said _The Umbrella Academy,_" says Elijah, "I didn't know what you meant at first, but it's been years since - since _then _and I saw it all happen. But only just now did I feel this... tug, almost, towards you. And here I am. But you..." He trails off, words slowing to a halt as his eyes flick up and down Klaus. Klaus presses his lips together and glances down at himself, eying the thin curve of his thighs, the sharpness of his knees beneath the sweatpants, and he nods minutely. He reaches a hand up to grip Luther's shoulder, other hand lifting to the counter behind him. When he tries to lift himself up off the floor Diego hurries to his side, helping to lift him back onto his feet. When he feels steady he waves Diego's hands away.

"I need air," he mutters. "Alone," he adds when he takes a step and both Luther and Diego make to follow him. They eye him and Klaus can tell they're barely holding themselves back from insisting that he sit down and talk, so he nods to Elijah before turning quickly to the door, eager to step outside and close the doors behind him. He takes a few steps out across the courtyard, ignoring the way small stones dig into the soles of his feet, and then he sits down on the floor beneath one of the trees. Elijah sits silently opposite him. 

"What happened?" Elijah asks. Klaus chances a glance at the window and pretends he doesn't notice everyone's gaze directed at him. 

"The Umbrella Academy," he sighs. "They found me. My brother, Five, he can time travel. He found me and Dave." He swallows through thick guilt. A little earlier and perhaps Elijah would be laying in a bed, resting, alive. 

"How long has it been for you?" Elijah asks. Klaus shrugs. 

"Couple days," he answers. "Dave's asleep."

Elijah nods, looking away. "How are you?" He asks. Klaus hesitates.

"I'm alive," he says. "How are you doing? I'm - I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I-"

"You would have died," dismisses Elijah. "Don't be. It was too late for me." Klaus looks at him. He's still drenched in blood, still hurt, still young. Klaus can hardly look at him. His nails dig into his knees. He can feel his blood slick on his hands, hot between his fingers, burning against the cold. Can hear his pained breaths even above the din of barking dogs and cracking gunshots. He can see it all when he closes his eyes. The tree behind him can morph into the naked branches that scratched like hands at him as he ran. He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them. 

"You're... you're supposed to be able to find peace, or something," he utters. He's sure that's a thing, anyway. And if there's someone that deserves it then it's Elijah. He swallows. "I don't... know how, but it can happen. And you... you deserve that."

Elijah looks down at his hands. He eyes his nails, shifts where he sits, pulls his knees to his chest and looks around. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know. I've had time to... think. I just kind of... observe, now," he muses with a shrug. He drops a hand down to the ground beside him as if he might be able to pick at the leaves and the grass, tug them out of the ground with a satisfying tear. He risks a glance at Klaus. "I think you should go in," he says, "it's quite cold. I'm, uh, sorry for making you faint, by the way."

Klaus waves a hand. "I'm surprisingly used to it," he comments. Both he and Elijah share a look, brief, fleeting. Klaus doesn't stand up. 

"How's Dave?" Asks Elijah. Klaus sighs, looking down at the ground. 

"I don't know how well he's adjusting," he admits. "It's a lot to think." Part of him isn't convinced this isn't a fever dream or hallucination. He's afraid he'll blink and he'll be beneath a soldier's boot. He finds, now, too, that the energy he had had upon first arriving here again is rapidly waning. Before he could focus on making sure Dave was alright, on eating whatever he could get his hands on, on putting on clothes and bathing. He could exhaust his mind on those tasks. Now he finds motivation and energy draining, reverting back to that monochromatic, autopilot mindset, giving up on feeling anything or thinking anything. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn't have to run to and fro, doesn't have to work, doesn't have to do anything. 

"I don't know what to do with myself either," Elijah says, and Klaus wonders if he had said that aloud. He swallows, turning to look at him. Still sitting on the cusp of a growth spurt, and he should have been thinking about what job he wanted to grow up to do, places he might want to study. And here he is, caught between times, everything stolen from him.

"You waited for us," Klaus says. "You waited for me and Dave, to see us, to make sure we were okay. We're okay now. We're safe. All of us. You - you don't need to wait anymore. Thank you. You can rest, Elijah. We're all okay now," he tells him, his voice something soft. Elijah blinks, his face wavering, and he looks away briefly.

"I'm scared to," he murmurs. Klaus wishes he could reach out, take his hand or touch his arm.

"You don't have to be. Not anymore. You can rest." He offers a smile to him, quivering, and Elijah looks down at his transparent hands. He looks back up to Klaus, blinks, and then smiles.

"Thank you," he says, whisper quiet, and Klaus watches as he seems to disappear on the wind, fading from existence, leaving Klaus alone beneath the oak tree. His smile lingers before breaking into a quiet sob, hurried to be muffled by one of his hands, and his head droops down. Had he waited all that time, truly just to see if Dave and Klaus would be okay? Waited all that time, hurt and alone, too young to be through what he had? 

Klaus balls a hand into a fist, slamming it down onto the dirt beside him. "Fuck," he hisses through grinding teeth, "fuck, fuck, fuck." He uses the tree to haul himself onto his feet and then he turns around and throws his fist into it. As if the tree had begun to weep, drops of rain filtered in through the leaves over his head, spitting onto him, and he kicked the tree in the same fashion that officers had kicked him. 

"Klaus, Klaus - stop," says someone, footsteps hurrying behind him and the person, Diego, dodges a panicked fist thrown his way before wrapping his arms around him, pinning his arms down and pulling him away from the tree he deems his enemy. Klaus doesn't stop thrashing. He kicks out, tries to shake himself free.

“Let me go! Let me fucking go! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

He feels as if he’s been quiet for so long. Mumbling quietly, keeping his head down, his shoulders hunched, voice at a level that’s easy for people to talk over, an unnoticeable whisper when the night passes curfew. Screams choked half through his throat, terrified that being loud will bring attention to him and no attention was ever good attention. Furious yells and insults always bitten down, stamped right down to simmer in his bones.

The anger surges forwards in a brief moment, uncontrollable, a flood of fury. They killed Elijah, and so many other children, and they killed Anton, and Louise, and Amalie, and why? There had never been any remorse, never been any guilt when they split a mother from her children and killed them. How had they been able to look at them, listen to them and their crying and their screaming and their moaning; listen to pleas begged from chapped lips in their own language and in others, and respond with death? How had they been able to declare them as not human? Exterminate them like vermin but with even less mercy? How could they look them in the eyes and see not the face of a brother, a sister, a grandparent or a mother or a father, a son or a daughter, a friend, a familiar face down by a restaurant or in a shop, the face of a person in pain, in pain because of them, but see not a person at all?

Klaus screams. Elijah, returning at night with blood stains and swollen eyes and trying to be silent when he cried for his parents.

Klaus screams. Antoni, one night never returning alive. Had it been quick for him? Merciful, swift, or had it been fists and yelling and pain?

Klaus screams. Dave, blinking stars from his eyes, replacing it with a glossy look that terrified Klaus into thinking he wouldn’t wake up the next morning.

Klaus screams. He doubles over the arms wrapped around him, his fingers curling tightly, desperately, into Diego’s arms, his knees buckling beneath him. He finds himself being lowered slowly onto the floor, and his scream turning rapidly into a sob. Diego pulls him back, turning the hold into what Klaus thinks might be a hug had he not know Diego better, only to realise that it actually is one.

He loosens his grip ever so slightly on Klaus, though Klaus keeps his hands readily curled around Diego’s arms, fingers twisting the fabric of his jumper, his head hanging low from his shaking shoulders. Diego’s warm behind him, solid, steadfast, not letting go and not saying anything.

“H-he was six-sixteen,” Klaus chokes out. “_Sixteen_.”

Diego squeezes his arm gently. Klaus thinks that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know. He’s not woken up with a rush of energy to shake the people either side of him to check they’re still alive, hasn’t stood, helpless, and watched a child or a teenager lost from their family deteriorate with ruthlessness. He hasn’t woken up every morning surprised to still be alive and to know that might not last for more than an hour. To be utterly helpless, hands tied, life thrown aside. To look someone in the eyes and see nothing but disgust. To be looked at by someone who doesn’t see him as human.

“I’m sorry,” says Diego. Klaus thinks he ought to be sorry to Elijah. Klaus is still alive. Though, Klaus wonders if that makes him the unlucky one. He still isn’t sure that he’s happy that the little girl kept sending him back.

Klaus screws his eyes tight shut, pulling his knees up to his chest, curling his toes into the grass beneath him.

“He was almost out,” he whispers. “We were – we were running. And then they just – they just shot him. He was brave.” Shakily, he brings his hand up from Diego’s arm to swipe at his eyes. At least, Klaus thinks, he’s moved on now. Hopefully he’s found his family. Hopefully he’s able to forget everything.

“I’m sorry, Klaus,” Diego murmurs, quiet, something heavy in his voice, something deeper.

“I hate them,” Klaus says. “So much. I wish I punched one of them.”

Diego squeezes his arm again. Klaus swallows. He peels his eyes open to stare at the ground in front of him, fat raindrops splattering around him. “I wanted to yell a lot, there. Never wanted to risk the attention of it.” His mouth feels dry. His voice still shakes unsteadily.

“You’re safe now, Klaus,” says Diego. “You can do whatever you want. I’m… I am sorry, Klaus. That we couldn’t get you sooner. I… I’m sorry.”

Klaus presses his lips together. He knows that he can do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to forget everything and be like his old self, unharmed, untouched, care free.

“How about we go inside?” Diego asks. Slowly he begins to coax Klaus up unto his feet, moving from behind him to his side instead, keeping one arm wrapped around him. They go back into the kitchen, Klaus triumphantly avoiding everyone’s eyes on him, tracking him. “Do you want something else to eat?” Diego asks. Klaus spares a glance to his seat and then shakes his head, facing the door. Diego takes the hint and the two of them shuffle out of the silent dining room and to the stairs. Klaus has yet to forget of his new hatred for stairs, and he forces himself to look up as he walks, forces away memories of dark, narrow staircases, damp walls, dirt caking his skin.

“Thank you,” he utters when they reach his bedroom door. Diego lets his hands slip away from him hesitantly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, words on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite say. Klaus lingers in the doorway, waiting, and then Diego bobs his head and clears his throat.

“Get some rest, bro,” he replies, soft. Klaus nods, sinks back into his bedroom, and Diego hesitates before turning and leaving.

Slowly, Klaus closes the bedroom door ever so slightly. He turns, looking at Dave, still sleeping. Klaus turns to his dresser instead, letting his fingers run over it. He stands in front of it, dead centre, and looks into the mirror hung above it, looks at himself. His hand searches for his blunt eyeliner pencil and he leans close, blinking in the dim lamp light, and, like he once used to, he begins to smudge it around his eyes.

He doesn’t know what he expects it to do. He smudges it out and then reaches for his old eyeshadow palette, presses his finger into the most used purple, and drags it across his eyelids. He turns his head side to side, eying himself, and then he moves to his wardrobe. He wants to be like himself. Why doesn’t he feel like himself? He wants that carelessness in his limbs again, wants to be content with life being a blur of flashing neon lights and stranger’s hands, stuffing his pockets full of jewellery to pawn and pissing off Ben. Where’s the energy that’s supposed to settle in his bones like electricity? Everything looks and feels colourless whereas before everything looked and felt like an acid trip in a rave. Someone’s reached inside his guts and drained him of colour, of life, filled him up with black and white and grey and blood red armbands that he can’t stop seeking out on every person he sees.

Klaus throws aside his sweatpants instead for a crop top and skirt. He stares at himself in his body length mirror and wills himself to change, to morph into the dead man that is Klaus Hargreeves. His fingers curl themselves into tight, shaking fists by his side, and he decides that he hates the man in the mirror.

He sits down on the floor. He dares the man in the mirror to do something. He lays down and so does his reflection, and Klaus finds with some shock that the floor feels so familiar to just sink right down onto. He turns his gaze away from the mirror finally and then he closes his eyes.

He comes, quickly, to the realisation that he shouldn’t sleep.

Each time his eyes slip closed and sleep seizes his mind, he watches something new, something different play out.

He watches someone he doesn’t know die in front of him.

He relives the first time he collapsed during roll-call.

He relives the first time he carried a body.

He relives the stories behind scars, small and large, and skeletons burn themselves into his mind and stick with him.

His mind creates new scenarios. Dave dies. Five doesn’t come and they’re forced to stand and starve for as physically long as they can before they die, and only then are they killed. He imagines his family there, both as officers and as prisoners, and he imagines somehow surviving for longer, only to be marched to his death.

When Klaus wakes up once more, flinching away from an impending hit, hands flying to his head, he decides that he won’t sleep anymore. He doesn’t need it.

He peels himself off the floor, sitting upright slowly, limbs groaning with a familiar ache of sleeping on a hard surface. He blinks away horrific images from his mind with effort, rubs his eyes, and looks around.

“Are you okay?”

Klaus startles slightly. He turns, catching Dave, sat up in the bed, blankets pooling on his lap and eying Klaus on the floor, makeup and clothes on. Klaus wonders why he thought doing that would help. It didn’t.

“I’m fine,” Klaus mutters. The words fall heavy off his tongue like lead. He feels like his body is heavy, weighing him down, a cage in and of itself, and he can hardly find the energy to pull himself onto his feet. Dave looks him up and down, raising an eyebrow. Klaus shrugs, changes the skirt for the sweatpants when his legs feel cold, and then he glances around the bedroom.

“It’s weird,” Klaus murmurs. “I fell asleep quicker there than on the bed.”

Dave shuffles slightly so that Klaus can come and sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

“It does feel odd,” agrees Dave quietly. “I… keep expecting to wake up and still be there.”

Klaus hums his acknowledgement. Part of him isn’t sure he’s not still there. He looks down, sees Dave’s hand resting on the mattress nearby, and he reaches his own hand out and covers it with his own. Dave’s hand tightens to gently squeeze his fingers when they curl around to his palms.

“Not forever,” Klaus murmurs. It’s not entirely clear whether it’s meant for himself or for Dave, but they both let the words linger in the air between them. Klaus turns around to better face him, eyes softening on his face. He wonders what it might have been like had Dave been born here, in the same time as Klaus. If he had owned a bookshop just down the street instead, and maybe they would run into one another in a pub or something.

Klaus heaves a sigh, lowers himself onto the mattress, head resting on the pillow beside Dave’s. He blinks in time with Dave and outstretches one hand, resting it on his cheek while the other remains with Dave’s, held between their chests. Then he leans forwards, slowly, hesitantly, and then drops caution and catches Dave’s lips between his own. His eyes flutter shut and he feels the way Dave hesitates for a moment before reciprocating, gentle movements, soft, intimate.

For a moment, Klaus wants to curl his hands into the fabric of his jumper, pull Dave on top of him, deepen the kiss, hook his legs around his hips and encourage something more, something rough and careless, something he did with half-strangers after clubs, high or drunk or both. He wants to pretend that he is in a stranger’s bed, waiting for drugs to kick in, waiting to melt and forget. And then he remembers that Dave isn’t a stranger, and although the idea of forgetting, of a distraction, is ever so tempting and blissful, Dave is more so. So he forces the sudden urge down and lets Dave be gentle, and everything that strangers weren’t.

He rests his forehead against Dave’s and feels Dave lift a hand to cover the one on his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed, focuses on the feel of him beneath his touch, focuses on his steady breaths and heartbeat, and lets Dave hold him until exhaustion pulls him under.

_It is cold. Klaus blames it on the poor clothing and the abrasive wind. It whips at him violently, sneaks in beneath his sleeves and covers Klaus like a layer of ice over his skin, and he can’t escape it. His body shakes as if he might be able to shed the layer like a snake sheds skin, but it never budges, never moves._

_His grip wavers on the shovel in his hand. His fingers shake, weak and cramping, pale in some areas and pink in others, and he focuses simply on putting one foot in front of the other. He isn’t sure where he is anymore, not that it matters, but it’s unnerving. He hasn’t been out this way before, and so he doesn’t know what lays ahead of him. But he isn’t alone; there’s other prisoners and other guards. There’s a dog. Klaus thinks that isn’t a good sign._

_They keep on going for a while, though. Keep marching, a blessed break from the usual speed of scurrying and jogging and running most places, just to be cruel, and Klaus tries not to be the unlucky one on the spinning wheel to have an officer’s arrow land on him and select him to be randomly hurt. _

_They follow them to seemingly nowhere, and then they did. He thrusts the shovel into the dirt, cracks its surface, and pushes it in with all his weight, and then discards the dirt aside. He thrusts the shovel in, pushes it further with a strained groan, and sets dirt aside. Thrust, push, discard; thrust, push, discard. A repetitive movement that burns his muscles and steals his breath. _

_Dave isn’t here. He went somewhere else, he thinks. Maybe he’s working in the warehouses – at least he’d be indoors, safe from the wind. Neither Elijah or Antoni are here, either. There are a couple of familiar faces, none he plans to speak to. Thrust, push, discard. _

_They dig. They don’t stop. The sun moves and the wind remains and the ground becomes lower beneath his feet as the pit they dig grows deeper, first to his calves and then to his knees. Klaus tries to pace himself so that he doesn’t have to try and stop and gather himself, try and avoid whatever punishment might come with that. He tries to pace himself so that he doesn’t slack off noticeably. He tries to ignore the others that do, and tries to ignore when the officers notice them._

_The dirt passes his hips. It’s nearly shoulder height when it’s satisfactory and he clambers out, fingers digging into the dirt to try and heave his trembling limbs upright and out of the pit, and they set the shovels aside, and he finds the clothes on his back no longer belong to him. He shares looks with the people nearest to himself, confused, wary, dreadful, and he tries to ignore his own thought process while his trembling fingers reluctantly work to take the clothes off, worn from his use and, no doubt, worn from the use of someone before him. He focuses his mind on folding them neatly, like you might see clothes folded in a shop on display, and then they’re gone, out of his arms, last shield from the bite in the air and the wind stripped away. He can’t feel his fingertips and it’s almost painful how his teeth chatter, but he can’t bring himself to really care. Caring makes it an issue to be solved, a problem, and he’ll realise that he can’t do anything to help himself and he’ll panic. So he doesn’t._

_He thinks he did something wrong. It seems he does a lot of things wrong here, because they always feel the need to punish him for something or other. Maybe he was too slow. Too close, too far, too loud, too quiet, too noticeable. But a hand on his shoulder shoves him around, turning to face the pit again. He realises, then, what it is he’s dug, and so do the others around him, some beginning to panic, wild eyes and sharp breaths, looking for a way out. Klaus is facing the only way out._

_He crouches, his toes nearly hanging over the lip of the pit, knees against his chest, arms around his legs, head tilted down at the soon-to-be grave in front of him. _

_He wonders if Dave will stay up tonight, waiting for him to come back only to come to the realisation that he’s not. Or maybe he’ll fall asleep, exhausted, and wake up and realise he never came in that night, and only then will he know. Or maybe he won’t notice for a while, too tired. Klaus won’t blame him. _

_Fear runs rampant in his veins, like a group of stallions all rearing and bucking wildly, furiously, desperately in his blood, kicking his bones and trying to get him to do something to save himself, and he thinks it makes him shake more than the cold is. _

_He blinks. But what can he do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. _

_He hears a tug as an officer pulls his pistol into his grip, lazy footsteps stepping forwards, careless, leisurely, to Klaus. The barrel sits an inch from his skull, he knows it. He wants to stand, wants to fight, wants to yell, scream, kick, bite, cry. Instead, he doesn’t do anything. _

_There’s a bang. Limp, he tumbles forwards into the grave, already forgotten._

Klaus jerks awake, sharp, throwing himself upright and curling his fingers into the dirt beneath his corpse – no, the mattress beneath his body, soft, comfortable. An arm weighs slightly down upon him as Dave groans, stirring away quickly and grunting out his name.

He’s alive. He’s warm. He fills his lungs with air and lets it out slowly, each breath becoming steadier than the last. His shaking hand squeezes Dave’s arm.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “ ‘m fine. Go… go back to sleep,” he tells him, risking a glance down at him. Dave blinks groggily up at him, half slumped in the bed, on the cusp of sleep but awake enough to let worry linger in his gaze. Klaus forces a smile. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

“Promise?” Dave murmurs.

“Promise.”

Slowly, Dave slumps into the bed again and so does Klaus, but he finds sleep evading him once more. Not that Klaus minds.

He throws aside the notion of sleep entirely. That had only reinforced the fact that he doesn’t need it and he tries to soothe his nerves by promising that if he sleeps, it’ll be too heavily to be able to dream. But until that comes, he won’t.

Slowly, he untangles himself from Dave and the bedsheets. He does it carefully, extracting himself from the bed so as to not wake Dave up. He sits on the edge of the bed for several moments, mind racing. The house is quiet beneath the sound of his roaring blood like a thousand horse’s hooves, a stampede filling his bones. Aside from himself and Dave, his bedroom is empty.

Klaus stares at his hands. If he presses them together, there’s a scar that snakes across the back of both hands, a perfect winding line, sore, healed wrong, obvious.

He stands up, eyes bouncing across the room. He hesitates, a thought bursting like the light at the end of the table, but, for once, he pauses. He looks at Dave, and then he slides out of the bedroom. Silent footsteps take him downstairs, a hurried blur of ivory skin. He lingers in the foyer, eyes the ceiling above him. There’s a draft that coils around his ankles like a snake, tight, restricting. He tears himself free from it, stepping into the living room where a fire crackles away in the fireplace, and he lingers in front of it, flames reflecting in the dark spots of his eyes.

He turns away from it and to something more promising.

He dances around the bar, settles onto his knees by it, and thrusts (push, discard; dirt tumbles off his shovel, stones hitting one another) a hand into one shelf, unlocked, and grabs a bottle. He eyes the label, holds it up to the firelight, pops the cap off and gets comfortable. It burns his throat, rolls uncomfortably in his stomach in a way that promises problems in the future, even ignoring the poor condition of his stomach anyway, but he sees that as only an opportunity to get drunk much quicker than he might have before. _Before_, he thinks.

Then he tells himself to stop thinking and keeps drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in my horrific update schedule, I hope you enjoyed this part and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you did!


	5. Chapter 5

_There’s always someone crying. If not himself, someone else is crying. Horrific, blood curdling wails of agony; hushed, shoulder-shaking, teeth-gritted sniffling; children, crying for their parents, lost in the storm of people lining up for selection; parents, pleading not to be separated from their children. No matter where he is, no matter when – getting stuffed onto that train that fateful day, a random night months later – it’s always there, like the ever present smell of illness and burning flesh. _

_Klaus has heard horrid wails before. Klaus has heard the cries of brutally murdered people, and he’s seen mutilated corpses as they try to claw at him with trembling fingers – those that had them. Reginald had tried to desensitise him to gore when he began to describe the ghosts and complained about their appearances. And yet nothing really compared to seeing the real things in front of him, everywhere, all the time. The piles of discarded bodies, thrown aside as if they aren’t people, aren’t families, teenagers, parents. It doesn’t compare to watching people die, day after day, at a horrific rate, or the feeling of waking up to the person behind him stiff and cold and dead, or the feeling of carrying someone’s body to join the rest, or of bones against bones. _

_There’s a corpse beneath him. There’s one to his left, too, and he thinks the person to his right is still alive. Occasionally his legs, one splayed out across Klaus’, twitch, and when Klaus blinks his vision clear and turns his head away from the inky sky overhead to instead eye his naked chest, he can see his ribs expand with shallow breaths, see mist curl past his chapped lips. They move in a silent, or near-silent prayer, Klaus thinks. He isn’t sure if it’s German, or Yiddish, or Polish, or Czech, or any other language, but language doesn’t matter much here. Not for them, in the same situation that surpasses something as small as language._

_He looks older than Klaus. He looks as if the stars above might hold answers for him, might reveal something that might numb all of this better than the cold. Klaus watches him as the light of a torch bounces their way to highlight just as a tear runs down the high curve of his cheekbone, splattering onto the corpse beneath him. _

_Klaus finds strength to reach his hand out, and he settles it onto the man’s arm. He blinks, eyes flicking to Klaus. Then one of his hands twitch to life and seeks out his, resting over it, and he looks upright again. Klaus follows his gaze to the sky, lifeless in the cart, and when he looks back down he’s holding hands with a corpse. _

###

He wakes up with his stomach cramping and flooding up his throat.

Jerking upright, he hardly has a moment to think before his stomach is rising up his throat and he throws himself sideways with just enough time to not throw up on himself. His guts seem to burn, churning violently, all boiling alive inside of him and he feels as if he’s trying to throw his guts up. Maybe he is.

His vision swims and he slumps onto the ground as soon as he doesn’t feel the immediate urge to vomit again, dragging in shaking breaths. He watches the ceiling far above him swim and he sees a bottle discarded on the floor nearby him. Then he turns back onto his side and closes his eyes.

###

“Klaus? Klaus, can you hear me? Shit, alright – Luther-“

Klaus’ eyes peel open heavily and he wishes they hadn’t. The lights overhead drill into his skull and his stomach rivals the migraine for the worst pain. He sucks in a shuddering breath, then turns his head towards the ground and tries to prop himself up slightly as he retches. Hands on his back hold him upright when he pitches and almost falls, the touch hesitant but heavy and uncomfortable against his shoulder and spine. When he calms, the hands move, and the world spins as he’s picked up. He blinks and the floor is miles beneath him. He blinks and he’s lying down and Grace is above him, offering him a gentle smile before everything goes dark and stays that way.

###

When he wakes up again, he feels like shit. His first thought, though, is _good. _This is _normal. _He can deal with this. He felt like he was beginning to lose his mind back in the Academy; somewhere safe, with no rules, an abundance of food, infinite freedom and help, a place he ought to feel fine and safe in and yet simply couldn’t. At the very least, he had a reason, a justification to be scared (oh so scared) _there. _

Then he opens his eyes and he realises that being in the Academy wasn’t a dream or a hallucination, and his gut feels odd at that.

He’s in the infirmary. His siblings are around him. Klaus thinks it is an odd sight, an old sight. His first overdose had gone the exact same.

“Klaus,” says Diego, rising to his feet as soon as he sees Klaus’ eyes open. Klaus looks away. He hates the sound his boots make on the ground. Heavy, loud, assertive. He can’t help but flinch. Diego’s mouth, open, about to demand an answer as to why Klaus did what he did, closes at that and he stops, looking a little struck. He pauses, hesitates, wetting his lips and rethinking his choice of words (pointless, Klaus thinks, he could call him a pathetic pig and Klaus wouldn’t bat an eye like he would if he chooses to be gentle in his approach.)

“W-why?” He simply settles on, voice quiet.

“You can’t handle that,” says Luther, “your body can’t handle alcohol right now. You’re lucky we found you there.”

Klaus doesn’t feel particularly lucky. He shrugs. Diego makes a noise. With no motivation to sum up an answer, Klaus peels the blankets off of his body (they feel like they weigh a ton in his shaking hands) and pulls the IV out of his skin with a hiss. His legs swing over the edge of the bed and the momentum of sitting upright has his stomach protesting, so he sits, statue-still, until his stomach settles.

“Klaus, please just lay down,” Vanya requests, taking a step forwards.

“I will,” says Klaus, “with Dave.”

“You know that you can’t handle drinking right now,” Diego accuses, his hesitation from earlier forgotten now at the sight of Klaus making an attempt to brush the situation aside. “Why did you do that, Klaus? You – you could’ve choked, or seriously hurt yourself, I – why?”

Klaus stares at him. He could have died? Could have been seriously hurt? He can’t bring himself to care. Worse could happen. Worse had happened. The worst had happened.

“Why?” Klaus echoes. “I thought that… I thought maybe – maybe I could forget.” He blinks and he looks away. He thought it might make him forget, might give him one dreamless sleep, might make him feel like himself. He had been wrong.

Is there no reprieve for him? No break; not even a lull in the pain? If he were to seek out a dealer and get high again would he only see red, the red of blood, the red of flags and armbands, the red of death all around him? Could he hear a dog’s bark in a park and see not the gnashing of violent teeth as they lunged, held on such a short leash (sometimes) inches away from tearing into him, and could he ever get on a train and feel it sway around him and hear its wheels on the track and not be filled with fear and dread?

Apparently not.

His siblings only answer him with uncertain silence, heavy and uncomfortable in the air around them. Klaus breaks it.

“I’ll be with Dave,” he murmurs, then shuffles his way out, swallowing every now and then against the nausea in his stomach though it doesn’t spike, doesn’t send him throwing up his guts again. His knuckles grip the banister of the staircase like a white-knuckled vice.

He feels like he’s going so slow. He doesn’t like it. _There, _they had always been running. Always been in a rush. Run here, run there, make your muscles cramp because you’re trying to go so fast – but no faster than anyone else. Don’t pause for a break to let your weeping body rest, if only for a sweet second, because sometimes you might be standing in the open in a group and digging and a bullet would ring out of nowhere and the old man to your left leaning heavily on his shovel was now bleeding into the ditch he was digging.

Klaus swallows.

Dave’s eyes greet him when he steps into the room. The door is open. Neither of them can close it.

“Are you okay?” Dave asks him. “I thought – I thought I heard something. You were… gone a while.”

Klaus offers him an apologetic frown. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I, uh. Fell asleep downstairs,” he murmurs. “I’m fine.”

Dave doesn’t look convinced and rightfully so. Klaus ignores him and comes close, finding his way beneath the bed covers and against Dave’s bony but warm body. “Are you okay?” He asks in return, hiding them both beneath the thick covers and sliding right up against Dave.

“Define okay,” Dave requests, a weak joke, and Klaus’ lips twitch ever so slightly.

“We’ll start with alive.”

“Then I’m okay.”

Klaus hums. “’s good enough,” he murmurs. One of his arms links around Dave’s torso and he holds him close, revelling in the familiar feeling. He keeps his eyes open because he doesn’t want to face what lies stained on the back of his eyelids like blood and he much prefers looking at Dave; the sharp angles of his face that had once been filled out, back when they first met; the dark circles of his eyes that weren’t always so dark.

Dave rests one hand over his and turns as if he might be able to get any closer to Klaus, short of laying under or on top of him, and then he slots his fingers between Klaus’.

“Can I – do you, uh, need anything?” Klaus asks him. “We can get food, or – or whatever.”

Dave stares at him for a moment. He looks exhausted; both in the way he holds himself, in the harsh lines of his face, but behind his eyes. But then something steely sets in his eyes, which makes Klaus relax ever so slightly because he had been afraid of losing Dave and not only physically, because Dave was being withdrawn and sleeping and Klaus could hardly stay still for a second. Not that he blamed Dave, but nothing was right and all Klaus knows is that he can’t lose Dave.

“Can we bathe?” Dave asks him. Klaus blinks and then he nods and snaps out of his thoughts. He untangles himself from Dave and the blankets and then guides him quietly into the nearest bathroom. He fills the bath with clean, hot water, and Dave wanders somewhere behind him around the bathroom.

“Can I – can I look in the drawers?” Dave asks, and Klaus pauses.

_Can he?_

_That isn’t Klaus place to decide._

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

It is still dark out the thin window in the bathroom. Klaus startles at the sound of a match being struck, turning to see Dave by the sink with a nearby open drawer, a box of matches in one hand, a lit one in the other. Dave looks guilty and tries to hide it with a wavering, failing twitch of his lips. Klaus returns it. Dave guides the match to the nearby candles either side of the mirror by the sink, blows the match out, then he glances at the light switch and Klaus’ shoulders slump a little and he manages a small smile, a genuine one.

Dave turns the light off when Klaus nods and the bathroom is bathed in a gentle, warm glow. Though Klaus doesn’t like the shadows it casts, the light is soft on his eyes and almost relaxing. And this is normal, isn’t it? Relaxing with candles in a bath. It’s relaxing. It’s normal.

They set their clothes aside and step into the bath. Dave leans back against the edge and before Klaus can sit against the opposite edge, facing him, he holds out one hand. Klaus takes it, follows his guide and settles gently against his chest. The warm water rises up their bodies, steam curling up into the air, and it’s quiet. No crying, no yelling, no screaming, no begging. It is just him and Dave.

Klaus melts into Dave and Dave holds him close, and then Klaus realises that this is for him. In the way that Klaus has been assuring him this is real, has been watching him closely, asking if he’s hungry, making sure he’s sleeping; Dave is trying to do something for him.

His gut twists at that, almost guiltily. He should be caring for Dave. This is his house and Klaus was an imposter there, he never should have been there, and Dave is hurt and needs his help and he lost his entire family and he only has Klaus and Klaus – Klaus needs to help him-

Dave’s hand brushes his shoulder. “We can relax,” he murmurs, breath hot and heavy on his ear. Despite the heat of the water, Klaus shudders, his breath catches in his throat.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, because he has to be. He has to be, because what will he be if he’s not? “I’m fine.”

Dave doesn’t say anything. He just holds Klaus because he knows. “I’m fine, Dave,” Klaus hurries to keep telling him until his voice begins to wobble, begins to crack. “I’m fine, I’m – I’m _fine_, Dave-“

“I know, Klaus,” Dave tells him, hushes him gently as his babbling turns into a half-choked sob in the depth of his throat. He screws his eyes shut and, try as he might, he can’t stop the tears falling free from his eyes or the sobs from bubbling over his lips, coming all of a sudden.

Dave’s ribs knock against his with each breath they take, sharp and uncomfortable, and his spin juts out beneath his fingers as he wraps his arms around Dave.

He clings to him as if afraid he might turn to ash and slip through his fingers, and suddenly every moment in which Klaus had looked at Dave and been scared for him comes rushing back. Every time he’d sit up in the barrack’s and wait for Dave with his heart in his throat and _what if this is the day he doesn’t come back? _Every time they curled against one another to sleep and Dave was so cold, or had a cough that rattled in his chest, or retched painfully; every time an officer or a soldier walked by, every time they got split up.

“Don’t – don’t leave me,” Klaus splutters against Dave’s chest. “Just – don’t leave me, Dave.”

Dave squeezes his shoulder and holds him even closer, even tighter, cutting-sharp hips knocking off one another, water teasing the rim of the tub. Dave’s head turns down, resting on the top of Klaus’.

“I won’t. I’m right here.”

Klaus can only sob harder and he hates it. He wills himself to take a deep, calming breath, to be quiet and get a hold of himself, but he only seems to spiral further. But Dave is there with him. Dave is alive and so is he and they’re safe and he’s fine. Why doesn’t he feel fine?

###

Dave doesn’t sleep as much as it appears.

He feels ever so slightly guilty because of this; tricking Klaus into thinking that every time he checks in on him he’s dead asleep. And he feels terrible, because every time Klaus leaves that icy hand of terror closes around his heart again and _is that the last time he’ll ever see him? _

He wants to be by Klaus’ side at every moment, wants to keep him close, in his sight at all times _(how else is he supposed to know he’s still alive?) _but then his bones weigh down, full of lead, and he can’t bring himself to get up. He can’t bring himself to face the world, to face his own life now.

Klaus seems to run to and fro, as if still stuck in the ever-moving cycle of _there, _or perhaps simply trying to keep himself and his mind occupied on other things, anything else, while Dave reacts much the opposite.

He can’t bring himself to sit up; to stand up, to hold a conversation, to look Klaus’ family in the eye. He can’t tear himself away from there.

So instead, he lays in bed. He closes his eyes or he stares at the wall. He tells himself he isn’t dead, nor is Klaus, for a long time until it really settles.

After the realisation that he isn’t, in fact, dead, he focuses on what happened. Images play out in his mind over and over and over again. He hears gunshots in the distance, swears someone is crying down the corridor. He falls asleep and he finds himself stuck, standing in a line with everyone from his block, head down, shoulders high, as every other person is shot, and Klaus is standing next to him – only to fall, boneless, with a bullet between his eyes, laying at his feet. He feels hands on him, grabbing, punching, shoving, and there’s a chill in his bones that won’t go away.

Then there’s Amalie and Louise. And oh, their faces are still burned into his mind. When he woke up in the cattle car and Louise’s face was slack, peaceful, and she was so cold. The glimpse through a crowd that he caught of Amalie before she was gone forever, sent to another line, sent somewhere else. Had she made it? Made it longer than two hours? Had she gotten out, perhaps? He doesn’t like the hope that thought gives him, so he stamps it out.

When he the ember inside of him turns to a match, perhaps he’ll find within himself the energy to get up and mourn for them properly. He had muttered Kaddish in the nights by himself and hoped it was good enough, and when the people in his barrack’s, late after curfew, gathered together to whisper prayers, he joined when he could.

There’s the whole issue of Klaus’ background and the fact that he is, apparently, living in 2019 now, too. He can’t wrap his mind around it; it goes against everything he knows to be real and makes him question reality. Superpowers? Time travel? Ghosts? It’s insane. He doesn’t really want to think about that.

His mind is busy and so he pretends to sleep a lot because he can’t find the energy in himself to get up.

He revels in the moments with Klaus and lets Klaus try and take care of him while he tries to build up the courage to offer Klaus something – anything – in return.

He hears commotion distantly downstairs and instinctively, he worries for Klaus. His stomach knots itself in worry and he tells himself to get up, to go seek him out, but he can’t stand; can’t even turn around. He just waits for what must be hours before he hears slow footsteps and Klaus comes in.

His bones settle next to Dave’s in a familiar motion. His face, somehow, looks even more gaunt, his eyes a little more tired than the last time he saw him. Dave’s gut twists at the sight and even more so when Klaus asks what he can do for him.

It’s then that he finds it in himself to get up. He needs Klaus, but equally Klaus needs him. So he offers something, and despite the way his heart skips a beat, he manages to push himself to search the bathroom drawers and light the candles in the room. His mother used to do this for them and they did it for Louise when she began to get ill, too. He hoped that the atmosphere might help him relax, ever so slightly; get him to stop for just a minute.

They clamber into the bath tub and Klaus sits with his back to Dave’s chest, bones to bones, and Dave wraps his arms around him. Steam brushes over their skin like the hands of ghosts, warm and gentle, and the quiet crackle of the candles is the only white noise in the background, successful in, for the moment, calming the ringing in his ears and hopefully Klaus’ too.

The position isn’t exactly comfortable. They’re both too sharp-edged and bony to settle comfortably, constantly shifting their weight on the porcelain tub, trying not to bear down upon one another either, and Dave’s ribs knock Klaus’ either time either of them takes a breath, and his shoulder must be sharp and digging into his head. Klaus’ hips dig into his and their ankles knock, bruising against the porcelain around them.

But he needs to do something for Klaus, and he isn’t sure there is a point in trying to use words. There aren’t enough words to ease the pain. There aren’t any words at all, except for the lie Klaus keeps trying to tell himself, trying to tell Dave, until it breaks down into painful sobs.

Dave holds him close. Klaus’ hands shake between their chests as if confused of what to do and where to go before wrapping around him and clinging dearly onto him. Dave sets one hand on the side of his head, cradling it close, and his chin rests on the top of his head, near the scar tissue from an incident Klaus hasn’t told him about.

There are footsteps outside, floorboards groaning in the corridor. Klaus doesn’t seem to notice them, his eyes screwed shut, face utterly distressed.

Dave looks to the door and lingering outside his eyes land on Diego, who watches Klaus with a pained expression. Then his eyes bounce up to catch Dave’s and, for a moment, Dave tenses. Will he yell? Will he march forwards, drag Dave out of the tub and throw him to the ground?

But Diego just nods his head at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he continues down the corridor.

Dave turns his attention back to Klaus, trying to curl closer to him, trying to be there better.

Klaus’ sobs slowed, calming steadily. Dave didn’t let his grip loosen an inch; kept it as tight as Klaus as if someone might come and try and tear them apart.

“We’re safe, Klaus,” he murmurs, like how Klaus had done for him earlier. His eyes remain closed, face pinched, but he begins to steady himself.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Klaus whispers, as if he’s afraid to break the quietness in the bathroom. “I didn’t-“

“Shhh, Klaus,” he says. “It’s fine. It’s alright.”

Klaus’ breath shudders as he inhales. He blinks open his eyes, finally lifting his head to look up at Dave and catch his eyes. Tears stain his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy. Dave brushes his thumb beneath his eyes, swiping away a stray tear.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs, gentle. He sinks back into the water, tugging Klaus with him.

###

The water is cold.

With great reluctance, they move their stiff limbs to drain the bath and climb out.

Klaus’ hands grip the rim of the tub as he tries to pull himself out of it. His thighs tremble and he feels more exhausted than he has in his entire time being home, as if allowing himself to be not okay has made him all too aware how tired he really is.

He perches himself on the edge of the tub as he pulls his legs over. Dave has already tied one towel around his hips and is holding out another one for him.

Klaus stands up, reaching for the towel only for his knees to buckle and hit the floor with a resounding thud. He grimaces, face tight. He grabs onto the bathtub again and Dave crouches slightly, wrapping an arm around his waist and trying to help him back up, but even Dave’s body trembles with the strain. He manages to get him onto the edge of the tub again, though, where he slumps a little, exhaling slowly and reaching for the offered towel.

“I – I can’t,” he murmurs, hands shaking as he ties the towel around his waist. He can’t bring himself to try again.

“Lean on me,” says Dave. Klaus watches Dave’s thighs shake and he shakes his head side to side.

“You can’t, either,” he says gently. Dave frowns, jaw locking and eyes falling to the floor.

“I can get us to your room,” he states, lifting his head a little.

His arm wraps around his waist once more.

They don’t even make it to the door.

Dave’s knees buckle with the extra pressure and they both tumble to the floor, only just managing to catch themselves before falling face first to the floor. Klaus hisses and Dave mutters a frustrated curse, teeth grinding, and then they just sit there, a few steps from the door. A joke dies on the tip of Klaus’ tongue.

“Can you stand again?” He asks. Dave looks at him, quiet for a moment, and then he nods and uses the wall to push himself onto his feet. “Get – get Diego, or whoever’s closest – I – I can’t, I’m sorry-“

“I’ll get him,” Dave interrupts, and then he turns to the door, shuffling out with one hand held out, hovering nearby the wall. He hears his voice meekly call out for him, hesitant and uncertain, and then there’s the heavy, heavy footsteps of Diego.

A minute passes and then Diego’s in the doorway.

“Where’s Dave?” Klaus asks.

“I took him to the bedroom first,” Diego answers after spending a minute just staring at Klaus. Klaus realises this is probably the first time Diego has seen him or Dave without baggy clothes to hide their bodies. Diego swallows, then says, “come on.”

He crouches. Klaus puts his arm over Diego’s shoulders, a little more shocked than he would like to admit at the feeling of fat and muscle beneath his touch _(and when had that become unfamiliar? When did he begin to forget what normality is?)_

Diego heaves him onto his feet a little roughly, a little sharply, and even Diego makes a shocked noise before following it with, “fucking Christ,” muttered beneath his breath. Diego’s hand twitches on his ribs; uncomfortable, maybe a little grossed out, a little horrified, hesitating before resting down on his skin again.

“I weigh about as much as a new born, Diego, you have to treat me like one,” Klaus drawls. Diego just stares at him – not quite a glare, but eyes flat and sad and not at all amused.

“I-I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Klaus doesn’t reply. Despite the fact that Klaus’ legs are moving, Diego might as well be carrying him. He isn’t sure Diego even notices, with how light he must be.

Dave is sitting on the bed. Klaus sits next to him, sighing in relief at sitting down. Diego’s hand lingers nearby, hesitant to let go, and he hovers by the bed.

“Can… can I get anything? Food? I… anything?” Diego asks, looking helpless, lost. Klaus looks at Dave, who hasn’t eaten anything at dinner, and although he doubts he’s actually hungry or can stomach much more than a handful of grapes, Klaus nods. Partly because he knows Dave needs to eat, partly for Diego to feel less useless. His own stomach still twists with taunting nausea from earlier and he doesn't want to chance it.

Diego does perk up a little and he nods. “I’ll – I’ll be right back,” he murmurs before hurrying from the room.

Klaus leans back against the headboard. Dave’s shoulder brushes his and Klaus upturns his hand, spreads his fingers, and Dave’s slide right between his.

“Baby steps,” Dave murmurs. Klaus nudges him.

“Baby steps,” he echoes, though the optimism the statement is supposed to bring lacks heavily.

They fall into silence until Diego returns, holding what he thinks is probably the leftovers of what Klaus hardly touched at dinner before, reheated.

“I, uh… Mom says it should be easy on the stomach,” he murmurs, and he sets it on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Klaus murmurs, nodding his head at him. Diego shifts on the spot, eyes bouncing between the two, occasionally dropping from their eyes to study the stretch of their collar bones or the way their skin seems to cling to their ribs.

“Thank you, Diego,” says Dave, catching his gaze. Diego swallows, eyes flicking aside before he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mutters, pressing his lips together. “Just… try and eat. I’ll be around if you need me.”

Klaus offers a fleeting half-smile at him before he retreats out of the room, both a little hesitant and a little eager. Klaus just slumps, then turns to Dave.

“Think you could eat?” He asks. Dave shrugs.

“I could try,” he offers. “If you try and rest.”

Klaus presses his lips together as if affronted. He doesn’t want to rest. He only just woke up and yet he’s still so exhausted, but he knows what awaits him if he closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to.

But Dave said rest, not sleep. He can close his eyes and maybe he can tell Dave some stuff – talk about the Academy, or a story, anything that might distract them, or maybe he can just listen to Dave’s breathing, steady and strong, and try and let some tension bleed out of him.

Dave picks at the food Diego brought up. He sits up against the headboard while Klaus’ head rests against his leg, eyes open, staring into the darkness beneath the blankets of his bed.

At some point, he hears the familiar sound of a book, pages turning by the windowsill, and he knows without looking that it’s Ben.

He can almost relax. His shoulders slump a little, freeing some tension, and he latches onto the sound of cutlery and dishes.

Dave sets the food aside in favour for finding Klaus’ hand in his. Despite his better judgement, Klaus dares to close his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know what you that, I love hearing it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for panic attacks, violence, dehumanisation.

_His arms burn. _

_They are held up above his head in a mock-surrender, and they burn from being held so high for so long. He doesn’t know exactly how long. _

_There is barbed wire behind him and a soldier beside him, gun in hand, finger on the trigger. In front of him, people run. People holding shovels in white-knuckled grips run to keep up with each other, running through the gates to the right of the soldier beside Klaus. They’re women, Klaus notices. He hadn’t seen women in more than a glimpse since he had fallen off the train; they had been separated. Klaus wonders what kind of work they are forced to do. He wonders if they’re just as shocked to see him; he wonders if any of them duck their eyes down to his face, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the hopes he is a father, a brother, a son or a husband they hadn’t seen for a while. _

_He feels bad for them. Guilty. He’s just a nobody, giving them false hope of finding their own family or friends. _

_They run past him on spindly legs; some old, some young, some frail and struggling._

_The ground saps the warmth right out of him like a leech. His body trembles. There’s a sign hanging around his neck. He doesn’t know what it says; directions, maybe. A threat. He can’t be sure. He feels a bit like a dog; collared, kneeling beside his master, obedient, but they probably see him as lower than a mutt. He feels like a piece of furniture; nothing more than an object. He doesn’t feel human at all; they’ve stripped away his humanity, made him nothing but a pest underneath their feet. It’s humiliating and it’s meant to be. _

_Either way, he’s been kneeling here for what feels like hours as people pass by, running through the gates, or soldiers marching by, or trucks kicking up dust by his face. What he does know, however, is that he can’t put his arms down. He’s not allowed to; not when it rained briefly, not when the wind burned his nose with a fierce cold, not when they began to tremble and burn._

_He doesn’t think he can keep going. His arms are drooping. His fingertips are numb. _

_He drops his arms. They fall like weights by his side, limp, useless and numb. The soldier turns his eyes onto him and barks an order. Klaus can’t move his arms. The soldier yells it again, growing louder, more demanding, more furious at Klaus’ disobedience. His hand curls into Klaus’ shirt and yanks him suddenly onto his feet. His legs protest the sudden movement, sore after spending so long on his knees. The soldier is in his face, spittle flying from his lips, and he yells. He yells things way too fast and furiously for Klaus to even attempt to understand, attempt to translate in his own head. _

_He can’t help but shake. Can’t help but turn his head away and try to avoid his face, until he pulls Klaus up by his shirt even further, presses his nose against Klaus’ face, then yells. Klaus’ ears ring. _

_The man turns, then, snapping something to one of the other nearby soldiers. He rips the sign hung on rope around Klaus’ neck off, throws it to the ground, then drags Klaus away by his shirt. Klaus struggles to keep up, struggles to stay on his feet, scrambling forwards until the man shoves him down onto the ground by his feet. _

_“Get up,” he understands, barked furiously from the soldier. He sits upright after he manages to make his body comply to his own commands, though he wilts to one side heavily. His chest heaves with short, panicked breaths that he forces not to spiral out of control even further. It hitches, however, rough in his throat, when the soldier steps behind him and he hears the gun shift in his hand. _

_He closes his eyes. _

_The gun clicks and he jumps, tenses, but he doesn’t feel a thing. The gun clicks again, but nothing happens. The guard huffs, frustrated, then clicks again, and again, and again, and again; each time crawling an inch closer to his head until the barrel is against his skull and nudging him down to face the floor. _

_He pulls the trigger. It clicks._

_The gun is jammed. Klaus’ breath leaves his lips in a shaky gasp. He’s alive._

_The soldier curses, hitting his gun before trying once more, then muttering beneath his breath. Then the man pulls the gun back and slams the butt of it into the back of his head. Klaus falls onto the ground, hands flying to cradle his head as he whimpers, eyes screwed shut. He hears the guard’s footsteps getting further away, leaving him there on the floor and riding out the pain in his head. _

_At least he’s alive, he thinks. Though he isn’t so sure that that’s such a good thing, but there’s something unwinding in his gut. He doesn’t want to die. _

_He picks himself up off the floor in time for a new soldier to come, grab his shoulder, and shove him in the direction of somewhere else. _

_### _

_Klaus doesn’t know when he broke. He can’t be sure if it was early on, perhaps when they shaved off all of his hair and stripped away his name, or if it is when he walked past a pit full of flames that leapt into the night air furiously, like flames from the very depths of Hell itself, and inside the pit burned not things but people – young people, beings younger than toddlers who had no time to scream or to cry. Perhaps it was when he felt death – true death – begin to creep into him leading up to the night he froze, or perhaps it was when he fell of the train and fists shoved him this way and that, pulled his clothes, and faces inches from his screamed words he could not understand. Maybe it was the day that he realised he had no reason to live – before he found out he could not die; the others here, they had their faith, their hope, their family, their friends. Klaus could not relate to them like that. He had no reason to fight for his life like they did. And yet he did. Maybe, maybe it was watching men fight for a scrap of bread like animals and almost join, or when he listened to a child scream for his father to wake up and for his father’s body to disappear overnight and turn to the smoke always coming from the crematoria. _

_He doesn’t know when exactly he broke; when he had been ground down to a shell of a corpse like fine ashes, without a face or a name, only a number living off terrifying primal instincts; a skeleton with one foot shackled in a grave he had dug himself, doomed to end in there sooner or later. Was it the sights and the suffering around him that broke him? Was it the suffering he felt? Was it the hopelessness? _

_Did he break because he could not bear what happened around him, because his mind could not comprehend the logic behind it all? And what logic was there? Why did the man to Klaus’ left not deserve to live when he had been doing the exact same thing as Klaus, and why did they have to run everywhere, and why did the people in the same situation as him have no empathy, and how was this possible? How could someone look around them and not realise what was going on – or how could they do so and see nothing wrong? _

_He doesn’t know. _

_He does know that he lost the ability to cry and to scream in the face of horror and that he could never be numb enough to not be scared. He knows what dirt-covered potato peels taste like and how they feel heavy in his stomach, and how snow burned his lips but was better than nothing when they weren’t given water, and he knows what it feels like to bite bones and dig his nails into skin when corpses and nearly-corpses fell on top of him and he had to dig his way out of suffocating beneath them. He knows that, at some point, it stopped being so horrific and became normal. _

_At some points, too, he forgets that he was a person; that he had been something else – someone else – once. He forgets that the Klaus from the Academy and the 143, 672 from the camp are the same person. It seems insane to try and draw any comparisons or similarities between the two of them. He forgets that anything outside of the camps exists; it’s futile to hold onto images of the past when the rest of his life is contained within barbed wire and cattle cars. He loses himself to it sometimes. Becomes one of those prisoners who have soulless voids instead of eyes that scare him whenever he sees them. _

_His thoughts melt like sand between his fingers. Faster, filthy mutt, says the soldiers, so Klaus says faster, filthy mutt, to himself as well. Disgusting pig, they snarl, so Klaus whispers disgusting pig, stupid animal, mindless dog, and it becomes a mantra in his mind sometimes. _

_And really, he thinks, are they wrong? He sleeps like a mutt in a kennel. He goes where he is pointed, he is punished when disobedient, follows orders in a language he doesn’t understand, has been given a new name and a tag and eats everything given to him and the scraps he can find on the floor. _

_It’s hard not to think the same sometimes, when he wallows in those moods, when he forgets that there is another way to live life. A mutt put in a pound, or a cattle animal being herded here and there, led outside to be ended with a bullet between his eyes, everything stripped off his body, shaved, and then thrown away to never be thought about again by anyone. _

_Why would no one think about him ever again, he sometimes wonders, but then he passes by corpses he doesn’t know and turns his head away, or he hears a gunshot and a thud and keeps his eyes on the floor, or he moves stiff limbs to pull clothes off a corpse to give to someone else and never looks the at the corpse’s face, never thinks about them and who they might have been. _

_What is he supposed to do, though? He isn’t religious; he can’t pray for them. He can’t tell their families or their friends. He can’t help them. He can’t feel bad, because to feel bad for them means he has to feel bad for the pile of other corpses they are laying on, and then the next pile, and the next, and the continuous stream of smoke in the air, and it is never ending death. _

_He never knew how successful murder could be. How systematic. How large-scale. He can’t comprehend it, but there are buildings upon buildings, thousands upon thousands of people around him, all going to the same place. And it’s legal. And there are more places outside of the barbed wire that are doing the exact same thing. And at some point it becomes less significant. So what if another person dies; everyone does; everyone has; everyone will. _

_It was a shock to the system like being injected with ice, and then it became normal. _

_He becomes insignificant. A shadow, a blur, a ghost, a nothing, a mutt, a less than human, shuffling through a crowd of other indistinguishable corpses, running to and fro, to and fro, ordered by a yell or a bell or a fist or a gun, mocked and humiliated and hurt because they simply can. They have the power in their hands to erase him, to break and remake him, over and over and over again. And they do. _

###

He awakes screaming.

Loud, blood-curdling, terror-struck screams that tear at the inside of his throat and strain his vocal chords, steal all the air from his lungs greedily.

_(He might need that air later, how foolish of him to waste it on such futile things like screaming and crying.)_

And then, perhaps a second or two afterwards, a hand lands on his mouth. Dave hovers over him with wide, distant eyes. “Shhh, Klaus, shhh, be quiet, be quiet,” he says, “they’ll hear you, they’ll come for you, you must be quiet Klaus, please, please, Klaus, be silent.”

But he can’t. He can’t stop screaming because he isn’t human, he isn’t human, he’s a mindless beast in a withering skeleton cage, imposing as a human as if he might be able to look like them and appeal to their humanity, their mercy. But they always see through his disguise, though; he can never trick them. He’s lost his humanity, he can’t even pretend to act like a human anymore let alone look like one. How did they manage to turn him into a monster? What did they do to him?

He knows he’s just gone and gotten himself and Dave and everyone else around them killed. The guards will come running in to see what the commotion is and unless Dave strangles him, bears down upon his neck with all the strength he can muster, all the weight he has, he won’t stop screaming. And they’ll scream, too; scream furious threats that won’t reach his ears, that won’t make sense to him, and others will curse him for screaming, and he’ll keep doing it. He’ll scream like the teenager, furious and terrified when his father stopped moving, gave up. He’ll scream as they drag him out and shoot him, or he’ll scream when they throw him onto the ground and beat him. He’ll scream his way to death, because how else does an animal communicate?

“Klaus, please, please, _please_ stop,” Dave begs, and tears roll down his cheeks, his body shakes above him, his eyes going through Klaus, “before they – before they come, bite my hand, just stop, be silent, Klaus.” His hand bears down over his mouth, almost over his nose.

The door slams open. Klaus can only scream louder. A hand on Dave’s shoulder tears him away and Klaus throws his arms over his face, cowering down into the bunk beneath him. He doesn’t want to die; he doesn’t want to die an animal.

But they’re filing into the barrack’s now, saying things he can’t understand, threats, probably, and he can only respond with some sound like cat in boiling water, tortured and pained, choked out between pants and whining sobs. He flinches away from the hands that reach out and touch him, slams himself back against the wall behind him.

But then he looks up and sees Dave _fighting. _One hand outstretched towards him, thrashing against the hands holding him back, knees sagging, eyes wide.

Despite the limb-paralysing pain and terror, Klaus reaches one shaking hand out towards him. Hands try to keep them apart, try to take Dave away and push Klaus down, and he thinks that if he is an animal, he’s going to act like one. He scratches and he kicks and he bites when the hands come close enough, and then he sees a flash – a flash of blue, and small hands shove Dave forwards, close enough to grab Klaus’ hand and tumble onto their bunk, into Klaus.

Dave sits half-upright, curled half against the wall, half around Klaus, both clutching onto one another in a white-knuckled death grip. His screaming turns to high-pitched keening in the back of his throat, a painful sound, mixed with gasping sobs as his lungs wrestle for air and fail. His eyes stare blindly ahead, unseeing in the dark, and he holds Dave close as if he might turn to ash in his hands, might die right there, right then (_and he might, some days they were more alive than others, some days he never knew how he kept going_.)

The hands try to return a couple of time. Each time they creep closer, taunting, mocking, teasing – _I could if I wanted to, I could hurt you if I wanted to and you couldn’t stop me, the only thing stopping me is whether or not I can be bothered getting my hands dirty by touching a filthy thing like you, thank me for being so generous, merciful _– Klaus’ keening kicks up a notch closer to screaming and they retreat. Come close enough just to make him distressed, make him scared, then leave, satisfied.

_He wishes they would stop. They must know by now that he’s always terrified. They must be bored of it by now. He was scared the moment they came to the bookstore; he’s still terrified months later, he always will be; they don’t need to keep mocking him, keep hurting him to maintain this terror. Please, just give him a break. He longs for something soft, something gentle, something akin to love and care. He just wants to be safe, or to feel an imposter of safety, even if only for a day. He tries to beg, but he can’t do it in German and doing it in English only infuriates them even further. He can’t dream it anymore. They invade his sleep as well, take away every reprieve he has, fill every crevice of his life, and the idea of being held somewhere safe seems insane – is it possible? Does something like that even exist? Has it ever? Not for him; not here. _

Eventually, however, Klaus thinks that it is just him and Dave there. Dave’s hands remain fisted in his clothes and he stares into the distance with glossy eyes, breathing not quite right, body trembling against Klaus’. Klaus presses his face into Dave’s shoulder and makes animal sounds.

###

Diego thoroughly feels like the worst sibling ever, tied only to the rest of his siblings (sans Klaus himself.)

The guilt and self-hate is something gut deep, something painful, more than what it was when Klaus overdosed for the first time, the second time, the third time. This one leaves him pacing in his room, his fists twitching with the feel of bones beneath them.

He had seen in the pictures how skeletal he had been. He had seen when he returned how his collarbones stuck out from beneath the heavy blankets devouring his frame; had seen the way Dave’s cheekbones threatened to tear through the thin skin stretched taught over his bones. He knew it was bad. And yet he couldn’t have been prepared when Dave shuffled down the corridor, calling for him with only a towel wrapped around his hips. He couldn’t have been prepared to step into the bathroom doorway and see Klaus on the floor, his ribs expanding with each breath, pulsing beneath his skin like waves rippling in pale moonlight, or the way they had felt beneath his fingers; the way he had lifted Klaus onto his feet as he usually would, only to startle them both with how he almost lifted him clean off the floor.

He had had to sit down after bringing Klaus to the bedroom and bringing up food for them. He had stared at his hands as if expecting to see sharp little cuts on his fingers from where he had touched them.

“How are they?”

Diego looks up as he enters the living room again.

“Hopefully eating and then getting some rest,” he utters, falling into the armchair by the fire and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How are you?”

Diego eyes Five as he asks that. He sighs, shaking his head, and for a moment he almost just says nothing. “I don’t know how they’re still fucking standing,” he mutters, eying the flames in front of him.

“They don’t have much of a choice,” says Five. “Or, they didn’t. They’re used to running like that.”

“It should be impossible. They look – they look…”

“Dead?”

“_Five_!”

“What?” Five shrugs. “It’s true. It’s just a statement. It’ll take them a while to gain some weight, grow out their hair, but we just need to…” He waves one hand vaguely, as if disinterested in the conversation at hand. “Reintegrate them, in a sense. Help them adjust back to normal life enough so that those instincts die off a little. Now; what I’m trying to figure out is why April first passed and we’re still alive.”

“Is that more important to you?”

Five rolls his eyes. “I’d like to know whether or not the planet is on the brink of blowing up and if I need to prevent it,” he says. “Or we’ll all be dead and they won’t have a chance to recover.”

Diego presses his lips together.

“Well,” says Luther, “something we must have done – something you must have done, maybe – changed it. Maybe we just averted it.”

Five presses his lips together, eyes narrowing, looking elsewhere. “I’ve not done anything.”

“You weren’t here first time around,” murmurs Vanya. “Maybe being here changed it. You changed a few things when you came.”

Five raises an eyebrow curiously, encouraging her to go on. Her cheeks flush a little. “Well, the stuff at the lab, right? The Commission coming here, Klaus, uh, finding the briefcase – not that what happened is your fault, but just in general, you know, I don’t mean it like that-“

“I know, Vanya.”

“And, uh, well, being with the family in general.” She shrugs. “Maybe you just naturally averted it.”

Five’s eyes bounce away, looking sceptical. Could it have been that easy? He came back and solved it without even knowing?

He’s not so worried as to why the Apocalypse didn’t happen, honestly. He’s perfectly happy with that, perfectly happy to just accept that it didn’t happen and that’s the end of that. He’s more concerned with the possibility that it might happen again, simply later, but he can’t decide that without knowing how it was averted in the first place. It’s a little hard to believe, too; he’s spent decades in a wasteland struggling to survive and retain his sanity; spent years killing people, travelling through time, trying to get back to his original timeline to fix his goal number one from decades ago, only to fix it by accident.

He sighs, tries not to let it sound heavy. “Maybe,” he simply mutters, then reaches forwards to grab his cup of coffee, gently blowing across the surface before taking a sip. “How are your pills going?”

Vanya glances down at her hands, shrugging. “I’m – it’s not as intense as before,” she states. “But it’s… more than I’ve felt in a while. I haven’t had any problems with the powers themselves still on them, I just feel more… me.” She says that with a finality that makes Five’s lips tug ever so slightly upwards.

“Good,” he mutters. “We’ll keep weaning you off and then focus on how to train them, Luther, are you still going through the files to try and find some of dad’s shit on her?”

Luther nods his head. “I found a few things,” he says, “only a few so far, though. He spread out a lot of it.”

“We’ll check them out later,” says Five, satisfied. He opens his mouth to say something else when he’s cut off.

There’s a scream. It echoes all the way from upstairs, only slightly muffled despite the distance, and the sound…

Diego’s hair stands to attention as goose bumps ripple over his skin. He’s never heard such a haunting scream before. He and everyone else is on their feet in moments, running out the door and following the scream to Klaus’ bedroom. It only gets louder the closer they get; something full of hysteria, of terror and pain. It hurts his ears, makes his guts twist at the primal fear in it.

He throws Klaus’ door open.

His first thought is that maybe Dave had a nightmare, or some kind of flashback, because he’s leaning over Klaus with one hand tightly pressed over his mouth. His shoulders shake and he murmurs, unheard of due to Klaus’ insistent scream, by his ear.

There’s a kind of look in Klaus’ eyes that pains him to see. It matches the primal fear in his voice, something so pure that it makes him blanch for a moment. He’s seen people scared, heard people scream and cry before, but he’s never seen such pure terror displayed as Klaus displays it here.

Luther is the one to snap out of the daze and rush forwards, placing a hand on Dave’s shoulder and pulling him away from Klaus. Dave chokes on a yell, eyes blowing wide, but then his head drops and he goes painfully compliant, chest heaving. Klaus doesn’t stop screaming. He throws his hands over his face and hits his back against the wall, making painful noises. Diego hurries to his side, setting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him, trying to get him to look at him, but Klaus just flinches and cowers, screams even louder.

Dave starts fighting. He yells out something – _bitte, bitte, bitte, halt, halt, bitte – _that Diego doesn’t understand, something teary-eyed and scared, and he reaches for Klaus and Klaus reaches for him. It takes Diego a moment longer to realise that Dave probably wasn’t trying to smother Klaus; he was probably trying to get him to stop.

Five appears in a flash.

“What the fuck are you morons doing?” He hisses, looking between Dave and Klaus; glossy-eyed, terrified. Then he grabs Luther’s hand, coaxes it off Dave, and nudges Dave forwards. He falls, grabbing Klaus’ hand and hurrying onto the bed, being tugged rapidly by Klaus until they’re both backed against the wall, holding each other as if they expect to die in the following few moments.

Diego feels utterly helpless. He tries to go closer, reaching out a hand to try and comfort Klaus who, at the very least, has stopped screaming but instead turned to make these other noises, high-pitched, interrupted by gasping sobs, animalistic and uncontrollable, but every time he gets close he only gets even more distressed. Neither of them seem to really be looking anywhere – looking through them, looking off into the distance, somewhere else entirely.

Diego swallows.

“We can’t do anything to help,” says Five, sounded strained. “We’ll just make it worse. Let’s go.”

He heads towards the door with slow, quiet movements, as if either of them are tracking them as they go.

Diego lingers in the doorway. Klaus’ nails dig into Dave. “I’m not human,” he whispers, frantic, distraught, breathing only getting faster and faster, each breath more panicked than the last. “I’m not human – I’m – _I’m_ \- Dave - oh my god-“

Diego can’t listen. He can’t help. He can’t do anything.

He steps outside, leaving the door slightly ajar, and leans against the wall. Here, he can hear them both spiral into whatever moment it is they’re reliving, trying what he thinks might be a call for help, only to shush one another in fear.

Diego drops his head into his hands and feels like he can’t breathe.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @siriuspiggyback who gave me a lot of Thoughts for this fic once more, enjoy bb

It takes a while for Klaus to properly come back to himself. He clings onto Dave, who in turn clings tightly on to him, both cowered against the wall against his bed, making quiet, choked noises that he can’t stop instead of crying. His fingers twist the fabric of Dave’s jumper, refusing to let him go, and slowly he begins to process the unfamiliar feeling of a mattress beneath him, of blankets tangled around his legs, the sight of his childhood bedroom surrounding him and the desperate feel of Dave against him, trembling and tense and tired.

His breath rattles through his throat, loud and wheezing, and he can feel bruises form on his skin beneath Dave’s fingertips with how tight he is holding him and he doesn’t doubt he is doing the same.

Dave is murmuring. Saying nice, reassuring things, but his voice is that same subconscious whisper they have adopted to be safe, and his eyes keep flitting anxiously around, keep bouncing to the open door, ever paranoid.

“You’re more human than them,” Dave tells him. “You are, you are, Klaus. We’re out. We’re safe, we’re okay.”

Klaus forces his head to nod, to acknowledge him, and he forces his fingers to straighten and let go of his jumper, lying flat on his back.

“I’m okay,” he croaks, voice hoarse and rough. “I’m – I’m okay”

Dave lets out a small sigh, likely relieved to see Klaus coming back to the present and calming down. He brings his gaze back to Klaus, turning his head away from the door, and he lifts a hand from Klaus’ back to the back of his head, fingers running through the short fuzz of hair growing out slowly.

He feels exhausted. If he closes his eyes he can feel the heavy hold of sleep reach for him, but his heart quickens at the idea, fearful of what he might remember or create or relive in his sleep. He wrenches his eyelids apart, staring at Dave before turning his head into the crook of his neck.

They fall quiet, simply holding one another, perhaps lost in their own thoughts or content in residing in the empty shell of their skull, thoughtless not for the first time. Klaus tries to shake free approaching images and sensations like a wet dog, tries instead to focus on life as it is now and what it was before, although before _there_ and after there seems like two alternate universes. They do not exist on the same level; Klaus Hargreeves and 143,627 are not the same people and they cannot coexist, cannot merge together. They are too different, two polar opposites. He struggles to slip back into the normality of this life, the mentality of a free man.

There is no schedule here, no lines of fives, no crowding for showers and fighting for scraps, no beatings, no death, no dirt. He doesn’t need to speak in whispers or in a new language composed of multiple languages, of fragmented sentences of German and Polish, with words in French or Italian or Greek intermingling. He doesn’t need to push himself, doesn’t need to fight every second against something; the cold, the heat, the hunger, the illness and the exhaustion and the pain.

He can’t understand how he ever might have survived differently.

He can’t fathom it now and he stops trying to. He flattens his fingers on Dave’s back and focuses on the feel of him, of the sharp bumps of his bones beneath his clothes, the unusual heat coming from him, the feel of his ribs expanding with each breath and the occasional twitch of his muscles.

He lifts his head up so that he can look at Dave and finds him staring back at him, eyes a fraction wide and lips parted slightly. His hands twitch over Klaus and a thousand memories flood his mind, of the Dave he met in the bookstore, the Dave lying beside him in the dark, dressed in rags, and the Dave who panicked when his lips turned blue with cold and his chest ceased to rise again. The Dave that had, on multiple occasion, snuck him a piece of turnip, or a crust of bread, hidden in the shadows of night so no one else would see and steal it from them, and the Dave that had been there from the beginning and was still here now.

Short stubble tickles his thumb as he runs it over Dave’s sharp jaw, and it tickles his fingertips that cup round his neck and reach the back of his head. Klaus is struck by a hundred emotions, then. Fleeting and swift and bleeding into each other, he can’t quite distinguish what it is he feels, and he doesn’t try to.

He can’t imagine being alive without Dave. He can’t imagine what it might have been like had Dave not woken up one night, or if he hadn’t returned once and then never again, or if he watched him get shot or take his last breath after a punch. He can’t imagine that he would have scraped up the desire to live, and he would not have tried to escape. He would have been alone, utterly alone, and he could only hope that death would stick for him or that no officer or guard might see him die and come back, because he fears what might have happened if they had. He would have lived life in a different time alone, an imposter, a walking corpse, until the day death stuck.

He leans close to Dave, slowly, hesitantly, and hears the way his breath hitches in his throat. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t say anything at all, and so Klaus kisses him; gentle and soft and hesitant, careful. He isn’t entirely sure what he means by the kiss, either. It isn’t sexual, and he isn’t entirely certain that it is romantic, either. Something grateful, something to show how he cares for Dave, maybe. Love in a way that no one else could understand unless they’d been through what they had together.

Dave returns it with the same meaning, though. Understanding and fragile, a hint of something deeper, but simple understanding and shared experiences. There is no desire or need for something more, anything more.

Klaus pulls back, his eyes still remaining shut, and resides in the tender atmosphere created between them, as if they are in a cocoon of just themselves and only them. His head tips forwards, forehead resting against his, and he exhales shakily. Dave’s hands come up to cover Klaus’, fingers curling together, and Klaus just revels in the feeling of Dave’s hands, of his skin, the sound of his breaths.

Klaus peels his eyes open, moves his head to Dave’s shoulder, stares at his neck and runs his fingers down his throat, fiddling with the neckline of his sweater. Dave turns his head, reaches a hand up to grasp Klaus’ jaw and tilt it to the side so that he can kiss him again. It startles him slightly, throws him, though he leans into it, returns whatever Dave gives him.

When Dave pulls back, he rests a hand on Klaus’ cheek. “They didn’t win,” he states. “They didn’t win, Klaus.”

Klaus’ lips twitch and he closes his eyes again. “I know,” he murmurs, but he isn’t so sure. He is alive, but he is tattooed and scarred by them, and he feels more uncomfortable in the unfamiliarity of his home than he might there. He doesn’t feel like the winner.

Dave’s hand coaxes his head up, forces him to look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows. “They didn’t win, Klaus. They lost a long time ago; they never would have won, no matter what would happen. You are more human than any of them were.”

Klaus sighs lightly, looking down while his lips twist in a sad smile. “I know,” he repeats, quieter. “But-“ He falters, exhales slowly. Dave nods.

“I know,” echoes Dave, smile sad. “But we are.” His thumb strokes Klaus’ cheek, back and forth, grounding.

Klaus slumps against him, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. “Are you okay here?” Klaus asks him suddenly. Dave makes a noise.

“Klaus, I’m incredibly happy to be here. Of course I am. But you know the – the transition, it’s hard. I don’t know how to cope with it, or to act. Of course I’m okay here.”

Klaus hums. “Dumb question.”

Dave snorts lightly. He squeezes Klaus’ shoulder and Klaus sighs, briefly closes his eyes before opening them again. He’s tired, but he is too afraid to sleep. Instead, he lifts his head off Dave and asks, “do you want a bath?”

Dave tips his head to the side. “Sure.”

Klaus doesn’t think he really cares whether or not they have a bath, but he follows Klaus in the slow shuffle to the bathroom. The water sloshes loudly into the tub and they strip, setting their clothes aside, and settle into the tub together. Klaus lets the water run as high as it will go and uses bubble mix to hide the site of their pale and bruised bones beneath the water. The water is hot and makes his skin tingle, but it soothes his tense muscles and he finds himself able to relax against Dave, even if the way Dave’s hip digs against him is uncomfortable, and how his ribs are hard against his wrist. It is a familiar sensation and one that brings him comfort nonetheless, and he finds that he doesn’t mind the physical sensation.

Klaus stares at the wall closest to him, at the tiles dripping with splashed water and the grooves between each one.

His fingers ghost over Dave’s ribs and he risk a glance up at him, stares at the distant look in his eyes, that same look that overcame everyone there. In a quiet murmur, as if afraid of the answer, he asks, “do you still think that you’re dead?”

Dave blinks, startled, and looks briefly down at Klaus. Then he turns his head away and stares at the door and doesn’t reply.

Klaus sits up in the tub a little. Their legs are still pressed together, but water floods the space between their chests and he holds his hands to himself now, as if afraid to touch him and yet also afraid to not. He stares at the wall and the water feels cold.

###

He sits by Dave’s feet. The tension between them isn’t something unfamiliar but something that has gone unnoticed previously, unimportant compared to the primal hunger and exhaustion that plagued them before.

He thinks it might be something akin to a disagreement. Their differing priorities and thoughts clashing and making themselves present and leaving Klaus uncomfortable and not quite annoyed, but something close to it.

There had been a lot of anger, in that place. Anger that was pent up and pushed down, a murderous rage that had him envisioning his own hands around people’s necks, tighter, tighter, tighter, and his own hands setting the entire world ablaze. There were times he wanted to scream at Dave; times Dave wanted to scream outrage at him. If either of them were foolish enough to step out of line, to draw attention to themselves, to put themselves in more danger. How could he be so stupid to bring attention to himself? How stupid and selfish could he be to nearly die?

He knows it isn’t in their power. Nothing they could do would ever mean anything to save their lives or anyone else’s. The hard work they did did not give them privilege, did not make them any better, any more respectable, any more worthy of living to keep working. The way they bit their lips and stayed small and silent did not mean a gun could not be pointed between their eyes and the trigger pulled anyway. Nothing mattered there. And though he would sit and stare at the electric-wire fence with temptation, or how he toyed with the thought of so easily shoving the wrong person and being shot for it, and how he might lay at night and not try to find warmth, not try to take every opportunity for rest or for more food, with no care to whether or not that night would be his last, there were the days when disgust and overwhelming rage would rise up inside him like a flood when he saw Dave do the same, because how dare he die?

His eyes bounce down to Dave’s prone form and his feet pressing against Klaus’ ankles. He wonders if it would have been kinder to let Dave die and stay dead.

His chin rests on his knees and he stares at the wall opposite him. He waits, lets his body burn through anticipation and anxiety.

It is weird, he thinks, how he can look at his bedroom walls and wait for the yell of a Kapo or an SS officer. How he can be in one place and expect such a different thing. His body still runs on instincts and learned behaviours from that place despite what his eyes see in front of him. Maybe he hit his head hard enough that he is hallucinating the walls around him and he is actually sitting up on the bunk in the barracks, or maybe even in the shitty hospital.

He scratches absentmindedly along his skin, failing to chase away ever-present itches.

He ought to bring that up to Grace. He and Dave have probably infested half the academy with lice by now.

He can’t bring himself to move though.

Instead, he simply sits in some half-alive state, one hand resting on Dave’s ankles, the other scratching his shoulder, his arm, his chest.

A floorboard creaks outside his bedroom and he startles, already half way onto his feet when he turns to look at it only to see Diego hovering in the doorway. He freezes, as if his body doesn’t know what to do, torn between the urge to stand up to attention and to relax, so he simply stays in his slumped, perched position on his bed.

“Hey,” Diego says, awkward, hesitant. Klaus blinks, looking down at his own hands, and then he slowly lowers himself back onto his bed.

“Hi.”

“Are – are you okay?” Diego asks him. Klaus stares. What a stupid question.

Klaus asks, “what’s happening?”

Diego blinks. “What?”

“What’s happening?” Klaus repeats. He presses his lips together, has to remind himself that maybe nothing is happening. There is no schedule. Something doesn’t have to happen. So, he rephrases his question. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to check on you,” Diego states as if it ought to be obvious. His eyes flick briefly to Dave and back again. “You should be resting.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I think that’s a lie.”

“I’m not lying.” Defensive, hot.

“Okay,” says Diego, lifting his hands non-threateningly. “That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says. Klaus feels bitter scorn rise up in him, almost amusement, the same thing he was greeted when he arrived by the older prisoners, the surviving ones, and the same thing he offered to new prisoners when they came in and thought they might get out.

Klaus looks Diego up and down quickly. Strong build, broad shoulders, puffed chest; the heavy boots that thud with each step on his feet. A gun would fit quite comfortably, snugly, in his hands. Finger over the trigger. Dog by his ankles.

Klaus blinks away the image, watches the officer morph back into Diego, with concerned brown eyes and no gun and no dog and no uniform.

He turns his gaze away from him, to the wall instead, and rests his chin on his knees. He says, “I’m fine.”

Diego comes into the bedroom. Klaus tracks his movements with careful eyes. Doesn’t bother looking at the empty doorway. He won’t go for it.

“Mom’s worried,” he says. “We all are. Think you and Dave should move down to the infirmary so Mom can watch you two; make sure everything’s okay.”

Klaus blinks. He looks down at his hand on Dave’s skinny ankles. “He’s asleep,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Diego frowns. “You don’t have to just now,” he says. “But – it’d be good.”

Klaus’ thumb runs over Dave’s skin. Over the sharp jut of bone. He doesn’t know what Diego is thinking, what he’s going to say, what he’s thinking, what he’s planning. Doesn’t know what to brace himself for.

“Okay.”

Klaus stares down at his hands. Waits. He isn’t sure what for. Diego sighs.

“Do you – do you think it’d help to talk to someone, Klaus?” He asks. Klaus blinks, lifting his gaze up to his brother again.

“And say what?”

Diego’s gaze is unwavering. “Whatever you want,” he offers. Klaus tries to think, for a moment, about what he could say. If he could say anything, what might he choose to talk about?

Would he talk about the way a woman became delirious with thirst on the train ride there? How they were in cars meant for cattle, how they were crushed together and had to alternate between standing and sitting to fit everyone in, and how the water was gone too quickly and his stomach cramped in hunger and the crying?

Would he talk about the smell? That smell that hit him as he staggered off the train, of burning flesh, strong enough his stomach rolled and the realisation made him gag, but he learned to get used to it quickly.

Or maybe he would talk about the children. The bodies. The children’s bodies covered in blood and dirt, empty-eyes and burnt skin, and the pit of flames that looked like they were from Hell, with writhing, sobbing silhouettes inside that fell still quickly, but not quick enough.

Maybe he’d talk about the hunger, the devouring hunger that made everything else insignificant, that stole morals and conscience and care, that was worse than the pain, that drove him mad, that drove him on, that mocked him in the way his stomach was swollen and fat and muscle melted off his bones rapidly, and how he’d dream simply about eating, about having all the food he could want.

Or maybe the anger. The anger he’d never felt before, strong enough that he could feel the sensation of crushing a throat beneath his own hands, how he could envision himself tearing down walls with his own bare hands, of bringing down the entire world and setting it on fire and screaming his vocal chords raw, that barbaric fury that made him shake.

The numbness. The days spent in a blind haze, completed in a series of blinks, feet moving on autopilot guided by a fire in his belly, flames licking his cold bones, his aching muscles. Keep moving because he has to, keep moving until he can’t anymore. Wake up and let his mind remain in bed, awaiting the return of his weary body to go back to sleep. Start again. Fumble through commands in a language he barely understands. Point and shove him in a direction and he will go.

Diego has no idea what he is looking at, Klaus realises. Who he is looking at, what he is looking at, what Klaus could ever possibly be thinking, what things he could have hiding behind his skull. Diego has no clue, and for a moment Klaus hates him for it. Despises him for it. He could lunge forwards, tear the knife from his boot and kill everyone in the room and then himself. Or he could just stab it into Diego’s thigh, or his own. He could do something with that knife he knows he has on him. And what would Diego do, he wonders.

Because now all he does is crouch in front of him, stare at him with soft brown eyes, brace himself when he sees the intensity hiding in Klaus’ eyes and the tenseness of his quivering, weak body. Maybe he can see the type of thoughts that run through Klaus’ head, see the images of bloodshed and violence that he does, from memories and from fantasies. Maybe he braces himself for Klaus to do something, to say something.

How stupid of him. Klaus might think these things, but he would never dare act on them. He is too much of a coward to do that. Too afraid. Too obedient. So he lets the anger and violence simmer in him like always, until it turns to despair and hopelessness.

“I don’t think that would help,” he finally manages to grit out through his teeth, and he leans back in his bed, away from Diego, and his knives, and his heavy boots that fit his feet and are good for walking in. Klaus could steal them when he sleeps. It’d only be fair. Everyone steals everything; if you don’t care enough to watch it at all times, it is only fair they try, and by their right it is then theirs. They could be his, and they could fit maybe and not cause blisters on his feet and he’d finally be able to march in time without hassle or pain. He could even tie the laces on them.

Diego blinks at him. His face falls a little, disappointed and sad. “Think about it, bro,” he says, rising to his feet, towering over him, and Klaus looks to the door with longing. If only he could stand and walk out it. Diego keeps talking. “We just want to help you – you and Dave. If you want to talk to any – any of us, or – someone else, or whatever, or if we can do something – just let us know, yeah?”

Klaus brings his gaze slowly back to him, focusing on his face and not the broadness of his shoulders and the unnatural way his clothes don’t hang off him. He nods; says, “_ja_, yes,” and clears his throat; looks back down to his hand still curled around Dave’s ankle.

Diego lingers, hovering in his bedroom near the door, that open door, and looks back at Klaus, words perched on the tip of his tongue. Klaus stares back, and Diego turns around and walks out. Stead footsteps. Left, right; left, right.

Klaus’ hand twitches and then relaxes around Dave’s ankle. Lingers there for a moment and then rests back on his own lap. He stares at the door, at the hallway beyond. A sigh tumbles off his lips, heavy and slow, and he turns his head away from it again.

“He’s right.”

He startles slightly at the voice, wide-eyes looking to Ben. He relaxes slightly, slowly.

“It might help to talk to someone, or maybe Dave might like that idea, too. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”

“No, you can’t.” It comes out sharper than he intends and he looks away, not quite a flinch but nearly, as he utters quickly a soft, “sorry.”

Ben frowns, looking away and shifting in discomfort. “I can’t,” he agrees with a nod. “Unless you want to talk to me.”

Klaus grits his teeth together. “Do you want to know what happened?” He asks. “Do you want to know everything that happened?”

Ben blinks at him, a little taken aback, and then he seems to see through Klaus like he always does and he regains his composure.

“Klaus, no one is going to make you talk. No one wants to force you to talk, we don’t want to know like it’s _gossip_. You get to choose and do what you want. We’re here for you, Klaus,” he says, voice irritatingly soft and sad. Klaus’ fingers curl in the blanket beneath him. He longs to lash out, longs to yell at him, longs to hit something. But his body is just tense, all wound-up muscles and hollow bones that have been trained not to lash out.

Ben crouches in front of the bed, nearly eye-level, a little lower so that Klaus has to look down at him rather than up.

“We just want you to be okay, Klaus. If we can do anything to help, tell us.”

Klaus stares at him. Wonders what could help him. What could help Dave. What could anyone do? Grace is taking care of them, they are safe, and warm, and they have food, and they can bathe whenever they want. What more could they do for him? He ought to be grateful. He _is_ grateful for it. He just can’t tear his mind entirely away from that place, as if he still has one foot in it like a grave. It’d make sense, he thinks, considering he died so many times there. Maybe he will never truly be free of it.

“No,” he finally says, shaking his head and looking away. “You’re all already helping. Thank you.”

Ben frowns at him, gaze sad, and Klaus turns his head to look at the door. His hand settles on Dave’s ankle, the feel familiar, and he runs his thumb back and forth over the jutting out bone that is sharp against his touch.

His chin rests on his knees again and he stares beyond his bedroom wall and wonders what he could ever tell his siblings, and wonders what they might see when they look at him. He doesn’t think he’d see the same thing if he looked into the mirror.

He looks down at his thumb, watches his thumb run back and forth over Dave’s pale ankle, back and forth, left and right, left and right, like a march that echoes in his ears and burns in his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talk about food/hunger in this chapter; head's up <3

Despite his best efforts, he finds himself dozing off and caught in some odd state where he is aware of the feel of Dave’s ankles beneath his hand, along with the feel of the bed beneath him and the wall against his back, but he is also aware of the ache in his blistered feet and the chill on his skin, the sound of harsh yelling that is like white noise ever echoing in his ears.

He hears a gunshot and flinches away from it, hitting his wall, and sighs when he realises he is in his bedroom and the gunshot wasn’t real. His eyes slip closed of their own accord and his head droops. He hears the sound of a cane hitting skin; his head jolts up, his body cringes to the side. He blinks blearily, relaxes his shoulders and brings his hands up to scrub at his eyes.

Shifting, he turns his gaze down to Dave, watching his chest rise and fall evenly. He looks back down at his own hands; eyes the little white scars that stain his fingers and his palms from labour. There isn’t any dirt underneath his fingernails now, and it looks odd to him, so he drops his hands onto his lap and looks elsewhere; looks towards his door instead, half-open and taunting.

He curls his toes into the blankets beneath his feet, blankets that feel odd and unusual, a forgotten sensation. His hips sink into the blankets and the mattress below him and it makes them ache. His neck is sore from his head constantly falling forwards only to be yanked up. He lifts a hand to try and rub it away unsuccessfully, and then just runs his hand over his face and back through the short hair growing on his head.

“Hey.”

His eyes bounce over to Ben, standing near the window. “Hi.”

“You look tired,” Ben states. Klaus hums his acknowledgement and looks away, scratches idly at his cheek and shrugs. He is tired, but it is a welcome change from that all-consuming exhaustion that he had gotten used to. The exhaustion that drowns out almost everything else, that felt like laying down on Death’s doorstep. This little fatigue amounts to more energy than he has felt in a long time.

Klaus rests his cheek on his knee, looking out the window beside Ben and the brick wall opposite it. His fingers idly mess with the hem of his sweater, toying the soft fabric between the pads of his fingers, tugging it, twisting it. It hangs off his shoulders, loose on his wrists, pooling at his stomach.

His eyes slip closed, lulled by the comfort of soft clothes and a mattress and warmth. He watches his hands, pale hands, flip open briefcases that had been discarded on a cattle-car of a train, searching through the contents to organise; holding people’s family photos, holding prized jewellery that glimmers in the light he holds it up to; pots and pans people had taken with them with the intention of using them, of cooking and eating a meal; he holds clothes, clothes for children and babies all neatly folded. He throws them away – throws all of it away. Maybe it’ll be burned, or sold elsewhere; he doesn’t know, doesn’t care, but a part of him feels guilty for having anything to do with it.

His hands pull his heavy body upwards against gravity, hauling himself onto his bed to collapse on it, bones groaning and aching, his head spinning. His hands thrust a shovel into dirt, or they tremble as they lift barrels, and they curl over his head to try and protect it. His hands dash out to grab a single potato peel discarded on the floor and, somehow, blessedly unseen by anyone else so that he can eat it instead. His hands curl into fists, trembling fists, submissive by his side, while anger and fear rush through his hollow bones.

He wrenches his eyelids open and lifts his head back up from where it had been drooping low near his chest. Again, he scrubs his hands down his face, trying to rub away his fatigue. He has the urge to get up, to stretch his legs and walk around in an attempt to wake himself up a bit, but he struggles to make himself move from Dave’s side.

His eyes stray back to him; his hand settles on his ankle once more. His face is slightly pinched in his sleep as if replaying an unwelcome scene in his mind, and Klaus doesn’t doubt that is the case, so he lets his hand run gently down his arm over the blanket separating them; rests it on his shoulder and lets his thumb run patters over it until Dave relaxes a little more beneath his touch; his face smoothing out, lips parted to exhale a small sigh.

Klaus knows, realistically, that here they are safe. He knows that; Dave knows that. But it feels as if, though his mind is here and accepts that fact, his body is trapped there still; tense and wired-up, his heart skipping a beat at any slight sound or sudden movement or specific tone; thriving on fear and the desperate need to survive, urged to wake up early, uneasy with comfort and food and warmth and cleanliness. Telling himself that he is safe and looking around at the Academy walls around him help none to ease the rapid beating of his heart beneath his ribs or the trembling anxiety that seizes his body.

He shakes himself free of his thoughts, blinking and turning his eyes on Dave. He can’t imagine he is fairing much better. He needs to be there for Dave; needs to get himself together to help Dave settle, to get to grips with being thrust through time and forced to reconsider everything he knows.

He’s safe here. He can do what he wants here. Dave is fast asleep at the moment. He needs to be there for Dave. What can he do for Dave?

They need to eat. He can get them food; plenty of food. Warm food, solid food, soup, fruit, coffee. He can get that for Dave. Dave would be safe left here for the short amount of time it takes him to go to the kitchen and get food and come back.

Nonetheless, Klaus teeters uncertainly, chewing at his thumbnail while his eyes bounce rapidly between the door and Dave, something stopping him from just getting up and going. He hasn’t been _told_ that he can leave the room right now and get food and bring it back up. He hasn’t been told because he knows, and everyone else knows, that he can do that; it goes without saying. But it feels wrong to push his luck, just in case.

Just in case what? His siblings take him into the courtyard and shoot him? He knows it’s ridiculous; he can’t help but grimace at the thought, but when he thinks of why wouldn’t they do that and what else they would do instead, he can’t come up with an answer.

Exhaling slowly, Klaus smooths his hands down his thighs, flexing his fingers. He gives Dave another quick glance, leans close to his face and squeezes his shoulder gently. Dave doesn’t react except for a subtle twitch of his face; nose wrinkling, lips twitching.

Dave needs food, and Klaus can get him food.

So he forces himself to his feet; forces his shaky, unsteady legs to take his pitiful weight and he pushes his way through the vertigo that greets him like an old friend when he stands upright. His feet take him silently to the door, where he lingers still, looking out into the corridor and then back over his shoulder at Dave, conflict clear on his face as he teeters his weight between his feet, and then he steps out into the corridor, leaving the door untouched.

“I think Allison or Vanya’s around up here,” Ben says, gliding immediately to his side. “You could find them, get their help – what are you doing?”

“Getting food,” Klaus utters, wrapping his arms around himself so that his anxious hands can mess with his jumper. “I’ll be quick,” he adds as an afterthought, as if getting in and out of the kitchen as quickly as possible is the priority.

“You should be resting, Klaus. Seriously,” insists Ben, and he slips in front of Klaus to block his path and it is more effective than it once was; Klaus stops in his steps as if afraid to walk into his brother, grimacing and looking down at his feet. “If you’re hungry, you could call for someone and they’ll help you, Klaus. Everyone wants to help, but you really ought to be resting.”

Klaus presses his lips together; grinds his teeth together with a flash of irritation. “I just want to get food,” he says, shoving the words out between his teeth, daring to bring his eyes off the floor to look up at Ben. He watches his brother’s expression falter, his eyes darting uncertainly to the side before he takes a step away, out of Klaus’ path.

“I know,” he murmurs, sad, and Klaus continues towards the stairs.

His knees are shaky and with each step he takes they tease him, threatening to buckle and disappear, and so he clings to the bannister with both hands as he descends the staircase, trying not to let his eyes stray to the lower floor for the height of the stairs makes his head spin. Even then, he has to pause at the bottom to steady himself, letting his hand linger on the bannister until he turns away from it and finally enters the kitchen.

He had done work in the kitchens a few times. It had been, by far, his favourite job he had done out of the multitude there, and it was unfortunate it had been the job he had done the least. To work in the kitchens was a luxury; he got to avoid morning roll-call, got to work indoors where it was dry and warm and, if he was quick enough, had nimble fingers and enough courage, he could steal a piece of food here and there. Hardly anything; certainly nothing that would work to build back energy or strength, but with the hunger there, life felt as if it depended solely on a potato peel or a tiny cut-piece of carrot; whatever he could get his hands on at all.

Standing in a kitchen open to him now is daunting. All of this food, all free for the taking, a lot of it that he knows will be left untouched and go to waste. The very thought of it being left to rot, food being left in packaging, completely untouched and thrown away – it makes Klaus feel sick, feel the urge to gorge himself on everything in sight until he physically can’t swallow anymore.

The hunger had, arguably, been the worst of it there. It was ever-present and nothing could ever chase it away or sate it. The cramps in his stomach prevented him from restful sleep and he would dream of food constantly. He felt as if his body had been reduced to nothing but a machine to be used for labour powered by a single empty stomach. Nothing edible was wasted or overlooked, as rotten or slim as it could have been; it was still food, still something he could be eating, a chance to fill the violent void that replaced his stomach and sapped all the energy, warmth and strength from his body.

He watched how hunger took over people; watched them fight like beasts over crusts of bread and chunks of apples thrown on the ground by their feet. He watched people readily fight and kill others to steal the food from their hand, even if it was nothing more than a dirty cut of turnip; a strawberry gone soft with tunnels created by bugs residing inside; it was food, and that was all that mattered. He had watched hunger consume people and he had watched over people eat with a dizzying sort of hypnosis, wondered if they might leave some, might not finish it all, might drop a crumb or might give him it if he fought them hard enough.

All of that mindless survival, just to come here and be presented with endless food that will go to waste.

He has to steady himself against the dining table. He isn’t sure if he is suddenly angry or sad at this, but it makes his head spin, so he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose until the world settles. He pushes through his stupid emotions and focuses on his goal; get food, get back.

Although he wants to take an armful of food and run it all up to his bedroom, he forces himself to try and think rationally. It’s hard, however, when the smell of food is dizzying and it is all right there and his stomach cramps and his mouth waters and he forgot what food even tastes like beyond water and dirt.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but even as he’s browsing the cupboards he can’t stop his hand from dashing out and grabbing a slice of bread. He checks over his shoulder, paranoid, eying the door and the empty room aside for a sad-looking Ben, and he devours the slice of bread while moving onto the next cupboard.

He finds a bottle and holds it like a foreign object in his hands before filling it with water and screwing the lid on, clutching it possessively to his chest, and he grabs a bag of snack pretzels; grabs a tub of different kinds of berries; grabs, between his fingers, the bag of the loaf of bread. With his arms full and mouth watering, Klaus turns around.

The figure in the doorway startles him; heart pounding into action, a choked noise makes its way out of his throat and he half-flinches, half-turns away from the person, and the bottle of water – thankfully plastic - and bread and berries fall from his grasp and he is left clutching the pretzels, caught red-handed, frozen, as berries scatter like shattered glass on the floor around him.

He stares at his crime with wide-eyes. The bag of pretzels crunches loudly beneath his shaking his hands, and his knees hit the floor with a painful resounding thud. In a breathy tone, as if he isn’t entirely connected with his body as if the sudden fear jolted him half-out of it, he mutters a constant; _“es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid.”_

His shaking hands struggle to swipe out and gather the berries rolling around the tiled floor, scooping them up and hastily dropping them back in their plastic container, but they’ve gone everywhere, and some of them have splattered across the floor, leaving pink and purple smears around, and he’s so stupid-

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer to him and though his gaze remains on his hands, he can feel the way his body begins to shake more violently with fear. But then the person with him drops to their knees, large, steady hands easily joining Klaus’ in their efforts to gather up the spilled food. When the last un-crushed one has been put back in the tub, Klaus looks up to see Luther kneeling in front of him, staring at him with an odd look in his eyes.

Luther shrinks under his gaze, as if Klaus is the one with power or authority here, even crouched on his knees he towers over Klaus, and Luther swallows and clears his throat, colour rising to his cheeks, eyes dancing shyly away.

“I’ll wash these, and Mom’ll get the floor,” he says, tone soft. He rises slowly to his feet, setting the berries aside on the table nearby, and then he picks up the water, the bread and the pretzels, and outstretches a hand in offering to Klaus. He stares at it as if he doesn’t know what to do, struggling to blink his sudden fear away to make his body move; make his lungs work; his heart calm down. Still trembling, he puts his hand in Luther’s and lets his brother help him back onto his feet, and then he turns to the rest of the kitchen.

Klaus feels his heart sink. Luther is going to put the food away and urge Klaus back upstairs empty-handed. But then Luther opens the fridge, reaches in and pulls out the unopened second tub of identical berries, ones that haven’t been scattered across the floor (though Klaus wouldn’t care if they had been) and he turns to Klaus. He presses his lips together, awkward, before finally asking, “did you want to take these upstairs?”

Jerkily, Klaus nods, still staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Luther jerks his head to the door. “I’ll carry them up for you,” he says, shifting his grip on the food easily.

“I – I can,” Klaus insists, but Luther shakes his head.

“I’ve got it. Plus, you should be resting, Klaus.”

Ducking his head slightly, he whispers, “sorry,” and turns to the door. Luther pauses, mouth open, but closes it when he is unsure how to react to this new Klaus, and they walk side by side to the stairs in silence.

Klaus’ shoulders bunch up with tension though matter how many glances he takes to his brother’s face. Luther dwarfs Klaus in size, especially now, in both height and mass, and even if he hadn’t ever seen Luther as dangerous or unnecessarily violent, it matters not now. Not when Klaus knows exactly who is in charge of this innocent situation; not when everyone has to fit into a category of him and them, and Luther with his towering, hulking frame, and his lifted head and his styled hair and icy eyes, laid back shoulders and threatening muscles, is not on Klaus’ side.

Nonetheless, all Luther does is match Klaus’ slow pace and guide him back to his bedroom. He sets the food and the water gently, as to not disturb Dave, on the dresser, and lingers, filling the entire doorway with his broad shoulders. His eyes are soft and sad when he looks at Klaus, lingering tensely in the centre of the room, waiting for him to go away so he can move. There is something in his eyes maybe similar to longing; as if he wished he and Klaus had ever been closer and he could give words or actions of comfort; as if he wished that it would then be easier to come out and say that he cared for him.

But they have not been close for well over a decade, arguably two, and the words he really wants to say get lost in his throat. What comes out instead is, “if you eat too fast, you’ll make yourself sick. I’ll be in my bedroom if you need me.”

Klaus nods his head once, staring at his hands, and Luther disappears from the doorway and recedes up the corridor. Klaus lets his shoulders fall and instantly he turns to the food.

He sweeps it all up off the dresser and carries them with him onto his bed, setting them down in front of him. A glance at Dave shows he is still asleep, hasn’t moved an inch, and he is conflicted for a moment about whether or not he should wake Dave up to eat, or if he should let him sleep. He knows, however, good sleep is hard to get, and the food (he has to remind himself) isn’t going anywhere.

Klaus looks over the options he has – food he had taken for no real reason other than for the fact that none of it needs preparation and he can eat it immediately. The berries looked good – refreshing, bright, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Bread because he was used to bread and must have subconsciously reached for it. Pretzels because they were there.

He opens the berries first, hands still trembling from his stupid mistake of dropping the first tub, and he scoops up a few to drop greedily into his mouth. Taste explodes on his tongue and he nearly moans at it, and he reaches for more. When he drops a handful into his mouth, he reaches next for the bread, pulling out a slice and biting into it.

“Klaus, you need to eat slowly,” Ben says, voice soft. “Like Luther said – you’ll end up making yourself sick.”

Klaus spares him a brief glance, eyes narrowed, as if insulted Ben might have anything to say about his food – because it is his food, it’s his, and he has to eat it before he runs out of time, before it’s gone and he won’t see any more for hours, and doesn’t Ben know how hungry he is?

He has to force himself to push aside these defensive thoughts. There is plenty of food – he’ll never run out of it here, and he’s able to eat as much of it as he wants, whenever he wants. Ben’s right, of course. Luther too, as much as it pains him to admit that.

So, begrudgingly, Klaus nods and forces himself to chew slower, to think before he eats, to take a berry at a time to keep his pace slow until Dave stirs.

He sits up, resting a hand on his blanket-clad legs, watching him twitch and peel open his eyes. He looks first at Klaus, relaxes a little, then looks around him and relaxes further. He pauses, forces himself to sit upright slowly, drawing his legs close to himself in his bed, and then he spots the food sitting beside Klaus and stares at him, alarmed.

Klaus offers a thin smile. “It’s okay,” he says. “I got it, come on. I have water, too.”

Dave hesitates, lips parted, but Klaus grabs the tub of berries and holds them out to him and he relents; reaching out to scoop some up and throwing it back into his mouth. “Help yourself,” Klaus continues. “We could get something else too, if you want. Just – hey, slowly. Eat slowly. Don’t make yourself sick,” he urges, voice soft, and Dave swallows heavily, nodding, and forces himself to slow down.

Klaus’ eyes linger on him, watching Dave’s thin fingers pluck up berries; watches his jaw move as his lips part. He watches his pale eyes flick around, glimmering in the light, and he resists the sudden urge to reach out and touch him; ghost his fingertips over his cheek, follow the sharp curve of his jaw, trail over his cheekbone beneath his eye. He’s hit by the sudden urge to simply reach out and touch Dave, struck breathless and dizzy by Dave’s beauty unhindered by grey walls and dirt-covered skin and muffled by the sound of death around them.

They are quiet then, save for the sound of them eating, passing the bottle of water between each other, until Klaus feels his stomach uncomfortably full and he forces himself to stop eating, and Dave does the same soon after. There is still plenty of food untouched between them and he ought to take it back down to the kitchen. Instead, Klaus stands up and hides the bread, pretzels and berries in his wardrobe, underneath a pile of old clothes; an old uniform.

Ben says nothing as he watches Klaus do this, with frequent glances over his shoulder at his open door. No one comes, no one knows about the food, and now he has it for whenever he wants it.

He settles back on his bed beside Dave, drawing his knees up to his chest to rest his chin upon them, and he turns his head to look at Dave. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks gently. Dave, sitting back, body sagging still with fatigue, nods his head, rubbing his eyes. After several long moments of silence between them, Dave rests his hand on top of Klaus’.

He freezes, as if shocked by the touch, but then he wilts against Dave’s side with longing. Dave’s shoulder digs into his side and his elbow digs in against Dave, but the touch is comforting and he melts into him, yearning for the feel of being pressed against him. His head tips forwards, resting against Dave’s neck, and he feels one of Dave’s arms wind around his back, melting any tension that might have been between them.

He focuses on the feeling of food heavy in his stomach, full for once and not resulting in any more nausea than he’s grown used to, and the warmth rolling off Dave, his fingers curling around his hip, the smell of his skin now clean. He tries not to let his mind stray to darker things, instead grounding himself in this moment in the present with Dave, alive and safe. He doesn’t think he can imagine a day going by without a flash of fear, without his nose stinging with the smell of disease and burning flesh, without gunshots echoing in his ears; but maybe there will be days where those sensations are more muffled, more distant.

He longs for those days to come now. Longs for the day his hands stop shaking and Dave’s smile reaches his eyes again. But until then, he simply has to try.

Dave tilts his head to rest on Klaus’, and Klaus despises the way he feels his body begin to fall limp with sleep; shoulders drooping, body curled easily into Dave’s, breath steadying. His eyelids flutter as he fights it, opening them to stare around his room until they drop closed of their own accord.

He doesn’t want to sleep. He fears and despises being thrown back there by his own mind, whether it be to relive moments that happened to him or to conjure things that could have happened and he only just miraculously managed to escape going through. But despite the lack of actually doing work, the abundance of food waiting for him, his body is somehow still exhausted and he can’t fight off sleep forever.

He intertwines his fingers with Dave’s and Dave squeezes his hand, gentle, reassuring, and Klaus feels his fingers twitch over his hip hesitantly before he winds his arm around him tighter. When the world begins to seep away, Klaus lets it with the hope that the food in his stomach and Dave’s touch might somehow be enough to protect him from his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly softer chapter??? Perhaps?? Let me know what you thought! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about bodies/weight, violence, death.

_When he wakes up, the sun is shining; it filters through the window and illuminates the room in a soft glow, gentle on his eyes. He blinks blearily and lifts his head off the pillow look around his bedroom. Blankets slip down his body, pooling in his lap as he sits upright, stretching sleep from his muscles. As he looks around the room, confused and saddened to see it empty however, oddly enough, not afraid or anxious like he ought to be. He feels oddly content, oddly relaxed as he stretches his arms up above his head. _

_Something soft brushes his bare arms and he cards his fingers through thick, soft curls atop his head. Something feels odd about this, both at the fact that they are there and at the idea of why wouldn’t they be there. His fingers slide down his head, carefully ghosting over an old, familiar scar that slips past him, and then his hands drop by his side to shove blankets off his body._

_He stands, and as he does so he turns to face the mirror in his bedroom. Bare except for underwear, Klaus lets his eyes roam over the unfamiliar sight of his own body that is, nonetheless, undeniably him. With his typical facial hair, and his wild curls. There is colour to his skin and his ribs peek out at him when he breathes, but they simply peer through healthy layers of muscle and fat, even more than he had on the streets. His stomach is soft beneath his hand and his hips don’t stick out so much; his thighs touch and his knees don’t look so disproportionately large in comparison. _

_He stares in odd fascination at himself until something like happiness bubbles up his chest and he allows a smile to grace his lips. He turns away, then, pulling clothes from his neat dresser and shoving them onto his body, and he leaves his room in search for Dave._

_The smell of food wafts from the kitchen and his feet carry him down the stairs with ease. His mouth waters the closer he gets and when he rounds the door into the kitchen, he pauses. There is Dave, standing by the table and dishing out two servings of food; waffles with strawberries and whipped cream decorating them. He is clad in only sweatpants, his torso bare, and Klaus stares in awe at the muscles rippling beneath his skin, at his filled out stomach, his broad, firm shoulders; at his full, rosy cheeks, bright eyes and thick, healthy curls on his head, messed with sleep._

_He smiles, bright like fire, when Klaus comes padding closer, and he tugs out a chair. “Morning,” he hums. “I made us some breakfast.”_

_“It smells good,” says Klaus, and as he reaches Dave’s side one of Dave’s hands reach out to rest on his soft hip and he leans in to peck a kiss against his cheek. _

_“Made them just how I know you like them,” he says with a smile, and they both settle down into their chairs to eat, no rush or pressure or desperation to scoff it down before it is taken away from them, such things forgotten._

_The morning sun shines into the dining room, right where they are sitting, and he can hear birds singing outside. The sky is cloudless and clear, and Dave talks animatedly to Klaus, with wide gestures, bright eyes and a hearty, joyful laugh that makes Klaus giggle. Dave reaches over the table to take one of Klaus’ hands in his, simply holding it contently, a familiar motion. When they are both done, Klaus stands up, taking both the plates with him. When Dave tries to protest, Klaus urges him back down onto his chair. Dave hooks a finger into the belt loops of his pants, tugging him close, and Klaus meets him half-way in a kiss._

_They’ve done this a million times before; this morning routine of theirs. They wake up, sometimes together, sometimes not. They wake up happily. It is a nice day. They talk, and laugh, and hug, and kiss, and they eat breakfast. Typically Dave does the dishes. Today Klaus shifts things up, but every step he takes towards the sink makes his stomach heavy with horror and trepidation. _

_The sink feels so far away; it gets further away with every step he takes, but every step he takes moves him further away from the bright kitchen with a smiling Dave, and into some endless abyss that is dark and chilling and that scares him and he needs to turn around now, needs to go back to Dave, right now, but he can’t pull himself away from the sink and whatever awaits him at it._

_His legs grow weaker with each step. His hands shake. His clothes begin to feel looser and looser until they hang off his emaciated form. He feels his hair fall off his head in clumps. His stomach cramps in hunger. _

_He reaches the sink, aching and exhausted and terrified. He turns the tap and cold, dirty water spews out at him, and he thrusts his and Dave’s wooden bowls into the water violently. Stretching his arm out, Klaus catches sight of something on his arm. A mark. A tattoo. A branding. His number, his name, his identity; 143,627._

_The air is punched from his lungs and the kitchen shatters a million miles behind him and Dave is hollow and skeletal and sad and it wasn’t real, none of it was real, except for this. _

Klaus jerks awake, unsettled and confused, and when he sees light filtering in through his bedroom window and feels blankets on his skin, he almost feels sick with dread that he isn’t really awake, but stuck in that same idealistic dream playing on a loop.

But then there are gentle, bony hands on him, and Dave’s thin face coming into view, dull eyes soft with concern and understanding, and Klaus’ own hands that thrust out of the heavy blanket draped around him are thin and the sick sight makes him relax.

“Bad dream?” Dave comments with a sad quirk of his lips. Klaus exhales slowly, looking down at his hands.

“Even worse,” he mutters. “A good one.”

Dave gives him a curious look at that, head tilting, and Klaus waves his curiosity with the shake of his head, unwilling to relay his dream. It has left him shaken and unsettled, with a deep, sudden sadness that it wasn’t real; that he is back here, unhappy and afraid and sickly, with Dave no better than him, and both too afraid to dare cook in the kitchen or likely even able to stomach something as sweet as waffles and whipped cream.

He drags a hand down his face, up his head, ridding the feeling of soft hair beneath his fingers with the jagged feel of a grown out buzz cut. He realises, in that timeline, should they have not escaped and not been killed for other people attempting to escape, today would be the day they would be taken to have their hair shaved again.

The thought makes him pause. He turns his head to catch sight of the mirror in his bedroom he had been determinedly avoiding since he had first returned to his bedroom, and he ducks his head to stare at the dark hair slowly growing back.

It will feel odd to have it grow out again, because he supposes he is supposed to let it grow out now. He wants his hair back, of course. Wants the familiar mess on top of his head, wants the way his hair grows unruly with curls when it is allowed to gain some length to it, wants the feel of running his hand through soft, thick locks of it, able to mess it up and style it. He misses it. He wants his hair back.

But he thinks it will feel odd after so long without more than an inch of it anywhere. It will be odd to no longer have to strip down in front of people, outside in the cold or rain or snow or blistering heat, or inside for doctors; to no longer be prodded and poked at; arms tugged this way and that, head shoved side to side, tilted and twisted. It will feel odd to have his body back as his, and he feels giddy with the idea of being able to tell people no when they tell him to do something with it, or if they try to touch him, even simply on the shoulder. Because he can do that, now.

His sudden excitement at the idea is dampened by the fact that that won’t be soon. He knows that Diego or Luther will come close, set a hand on his shoulder or touch his elbow or his back, and the urge to tell them to fuck off will be lost and his throat will clam up at the idea of saying such a risky thing. He doesn’t want to die, and that is the only outcome he’ll receive if he talks out or lashes out so stupidly.

Sighing, he slumps his shoulder and turns to find comfort in Dave. “I’m alright,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Was I asleep for long?” He asks. Dave’s lips twist and he glances at the window.

“A while,” he offers. “Not too long, though.”

“Surprise,” mutters Klaus, and Dave snorts. After several moments of prolonged silence between them, he murmurs, “do you want to know what my dream was?”

Dave glances down at him. “Only if you want to tell me.”

Klaus hums, then shuffles into a slightly more comfortable position. Dave still has an arm wrapped around him, but it is hard to get comfortable and then stay comfortable with the little padding on their bodies. He can only hope that since they haven’t been sleeping on hard, flat surfaces, the bruises on their backs and hips and tailbone will begin to fade.

He supposes that the dream he had was largely positive. If he ignores the way it ended, he can try and focus on the good from it. Maybe it will help Dave feel a little more positive and optimistic, too. So, he settles against him and begins to speak.

“I woke up in bed. I felt rested, and I got a full night of sleep without a nightmare. You weren’t in the room, so I got up and I saw myself in the mirror.” As he talks, one of his hands absently wanders up his own face, and comes to rest on his head. “My hair was a mess. It was thick, and I could tangle my fingers in it, and I had my facial hair back, too. There weren’t shadows around my eyes.” His fingertips ghost over the skin beneath his eyes, then down his jaw, then down to rest on his stomach. “And I’d filled out. My stomach was soft, and my thighs touched, and I wasn’t cold even just standing in a pair of boxers. I found you in the kitchen. You cooked us breakfast – waffles, strawberries and whipped cream. Your hair was soft. It looked like it did when I first met you – maybe a little longer.” His lips quirk up in a small smile and his eyes bounce up to eye Dave’s face. “You looked like you were beginning to get some abs. And we spoke, and ate, and laughed, and everything was good. Everything was good. That was it.”

Dave’s eyes go a little distant as he talks, as if imagining this situation himself, lips parted. Klaus reaches out and squeezes his hand gently, offering him a small smile that is only slightly forced. He leans back, looks up at the ceiling above them and sighs. “I think that day will be nice when it comes,” he states. He hears Dave swallow before he nods.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, it will be.”

Klaus smiles at him, resting his head against his shoulder. It feels nearly impossible to truly think that, to stay so optimistic, especially now he is truly awake and forced to acknowledge the lethargy of his body, the ache in his bones, the ever-present anxiety and fear surrounding him, engulfing him. But for a little while, maybe he can lie and convince himself that everything will work out easily – that the next time he wakes up he will have put on weight, grown his hair out and be content and fearless. He always was good at lying, and better at doing it to himself than to anyone else.

“It feels weird,” Dave utters. Klaus hums, lifting his head to look questioningly at him, and so Dave continues. “We should be getting shaved today.”

“I know,” Klaus says.

“I can’t remember what it feels like. To have hair. I can’t remember.”

Klaus purses his lips. “I can’t either.”

He watches as Dave lifts a hand to run over his head and the short hair there. Klaus reaches forwards, sating that urge to just touch Dave, cupping his jaw with his fingers gently. “Hey,” he says, voice soft, watching the way Dave’s eyes bounce immediately to him when he touches him. “If you – if you want to keep it short, that’s fine. We can do that. We can do whatever makes you comfortable. That’s our – _your_ – choice now. Do what you want.”

Dave pauses, lips parted, seeming to mull those words over _– his choice_. He looks both afraid and excited by that concept of freedom. Klaus squeezes his hand gently, encouragingly, and his hand lingers on his jaw; fingers snaking up to his cheek. He can’t bring himself to take it away. He never wants to let Dave go, and it is almost intoxicating, being able to touch him, to admire him like this. Mixed with this sudden conflict over his own identity and body, encouraged by the free touches he received in the dream, he suddenly longs for more; burns for it.

His hand outstretched to Dave’s cheek is attached to the arm with the tattoo on it. If he tugged the sleeve of his sweater down just a little more, he would see the uneven numbers on his skin. That ugly branding, like the lock on his shackles, binding him forever to them and that place, marking him as theirs; their own creation, moulded by their hands and their fists and their guns.

Funny, he thinks, how both of his forearms now bear someone else’s mark in an attempt to classify him as belonging to someone else, someplace else. He was born a number, permanently branded as belonging to the Umbrella Academy and Sir Reginald Hargreeves, and when he is free from that place with his own name and his own freedom, he has it stripped from him again and given another number, another branding, a new set of shackles placed over the bruises from where his old ones had been.

It makes hysterical anger bubble up in him. He despises the sight of that number, utterly despises it, and he despises the umbrella tattoo as well; despises the ones on his hands that were ogled at when he was brought in. He despises how horrifically easy it is to be stripped apart, made insignificant and inferior; nameless, faceless, owned.

But now, he thinks, he has his freedom back. He might not be able to get rid of either the umbrella tattoo or that number, but this is his body and he gets to make his own decisions regarding it; he gets to be in control of it; gets to have it back. No one is allowed to own him, to change him, to control him. He won’t let it happen a third time.

It’s with this kind of desperation bubbling up in his thin chest that he lunges forwards to kiss Dave. He thuds against Dave’s chest, collides their lips together clumsily and roughly, in a way they hadn’t ever kissed before. He tugs Dave’s lower lip between his, toys it teasingly with his teeth, holds either side of his jaw with his hands and urges him to tilt it upwards to meet him in this kiss. He wishes Dave’s hands would wander and sit on his hips, would caress his waist and slide down his thighs; would touch him wherever, as if only just seeing Klaus for the first time, but Dave is all but motionless for several moments, letting Klaus kiss him hungrily and try to get a reaction from him, try to get him to reciprocate it, but the only response Klaus gets is Dave beginning to push away; he twists his head away in Klaus’ hands, one of his own coming up to push Klaus’ shoulders and urge him away.

Klaus lets himself be pushed away, kiss breaking, and stares almost insulted at Dave, who is refusing to quite look at him, chest heaving. Finally, though, Dave turns to meet his eyes, looking embarrassed as he shakes his head. “Klaus, I – I can’t,” he says, “I don’t – I can’t, I don’t want to do that, Klaus.”

The sudden urge melts away quickly, giving way to realisation and shame that makes his cheeks and ears turn pink. He looks away, lips moving silently as he struggles to find a response. “I – I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t – I don’t know why I did that, I know you don’t want to, I’m – I’m sorry, I-“

He trails off, inching away from Dave so that they aren’t touching anymore, and he looks down shamefully at his hands. Of course Dave doesn’t want to do anything like that – _can’t_ do anything like that. _He_ can’t, either – doesn’t really _want_ to, as well. He doesn’t feel any lust, any arousal, any sexual desire at all; he doesn’t know what overcame him.

Old habits, he supposes bitterly. Although it feels like lifetimes ago, he was once used to using touch and sex to chase away insecurities and doubts; used to seeking it out as if having the power of being able to seduce a person gave made him feel valued or seen or gave him some kind of power or control, despite the many times he turned to sex because he had nothing else to give even if he didn’t necessarily want to.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, looking up at Dave. “I didn’t mean to do that, I know you don’t want to, I’m really sorry, Dave, I just – I really don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry-“

“Hey, hey,” says Dave, reaching out to take his hand and Klaus freezes. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I get it, you’re sorry, it’s fine. Yeah? It’s fine.”

Klaus sighs, forces himself to nod. “Yeah, yeah,” he utters in agreement, looking away briefly. Dave shuffles closer, pressing their shoulders together, and Klaus lets some tension melt from his body. He lets his eyes flutter closed once more, focuses on the feel of Dave running his thumb along his knuckles, and for a while he can almost feel himself dozing off again; once more stuck in a state of picking his head up every time it drops, roughly shooing away the call for sleep.

He dozes off. Picks his head up. Dave squeezes his hand; when Klaus peers at him he looks as tired as he feels. His eyes closed. He dozes off. A gunshot echoes. He and Dave jump out their skin. He _and Dave_ jump out their skin. Both of them heard it.

His head snaps up and Dave’s eyes catch his, wide, confused, afraid. “You – you heard that?” He asks, and Klaus notices how he silently admits to hearing gunshots no one else does, just like Klaus. Klaus’ mouth works, struggling for words as his eyes dart to the door. Another gunshot, and he hears a commotion downstairs, by the front door.

He and Dave subconsciously shuffle closer to one another on the bed, huddling together. He hears thuds coming from up the corridor and then the sound of pounding footsteps; he watches as Luther, followed by Allison and Vanya run past his bedroom door towards the sound of gunshots. He doesn’t know where Diego or Five are. Ben appears from seemingly nowhere by his doorway, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the commotion and then turning back to look at he and Dave.

He’s saying things. Mouth moving silently. Words coming out. But the gunshots are coming more frequently now, an endless rain of gunshots, and why are there gunshots? The only ones he is supposed to hear are the ones that haunt his memories and his dreams, that fade and become more distant and muffled; gunshots only he can hear.

But Dave hears these ones too; he has gone wide-eyed and pale, staring at the door with fear in his eyes, one hand curling around Klaus’ arm tightly.

Why are there gunshots? They must be killing everyone. That’s what they did, right? Set up four machine guns, one in each corner, and just mow them all down in the courtyard where they stand. Klaus knows this. He and Dave have found a little corner, somewhere hidden, somewhere out of range; maybe they are hiding in the filthy toilets where the officers don’t dare to come, or maybe they have somehow managed to remain hiding in the barracks, unseen, unnoticed. They can’t hide forever, though.

He struggles to differentiate the past from the present; struggles to remind himself that he isn’t there, that he is in the Academy. He flinches with each echoing gunshot, pressing himself harder against the wall as if he might melt into it or fall through it if he tries hard enough, and he doesn’t know what to do.

God, he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to stay hiding here forever until the guns fall silent and the place is long abandoned; until they are alone and safe, blessedly still alive. But he knows that there is no hiding spot safe enough to disguise them, there is no chance of escape. If they go down now, they might be able to slip into the mass unnoticed and just be shot like the rest and die unnoticed. If they don’t, they will be found and maybe they will make a spectacle of their death; maybe they will drag them to the courtyard to stare at the mountain composed of thousands of human bodies piled up together, surrounded in a moat of blood, and then they will shoot them both in the head. Maybe they will let loose their dogs on them to tear them apart. Maybe they will beat them to death; kick them about like a football between one another, back and forth like a game; see how many kicks their skull can take before it cracks. The winner gets to burn their corpses.

But if he hides, maybe, just maybe, he won’t die, and he doesn’t want to die. He has never wanted to live more badly, more desperately before. He is too weak to fight back, though, and he knows that surviving is never an option here.

But then there is Ben, all of a sudden, who shouldn’t be here – but he should be, because they are in the Academy, not back _there_. Ben is trying to calm him down, trying to explain the situation, trying to get him to close the door and hide properly. But he can’t move; body frozen with fear and anticipation. He cannot breathe; his heart pounds furiously beneath his ribcage.

Maybe it is because he and Dave took that food earlier. No, no, no; _he_ took that food earlier, _not_ Dave. Fuck. This is his fault. He should have known – he _had_ known, and he had stolen anyway, and eaten it _anyway_, and _kept_ and _hidden_ _it_ _anyway_, and this is _his_ fault, and-

Footsteps pound down the hallway and Klaus covers his ears; cradles his head, can hardly hear a thing above the roaring of his heart and the ragged inhale of his struggling lungs.

Then, like he expected, there are figures in his doorway. He and Dave freeze as still as statues, and Ben runs his hands stressfully through his hair, looking sick as two people in full body armoured suits and gas masks come into the room, and then two people Klaus is sickeningly familiar with follow; wearing suits and colourful masks. Had he been more aware of where and when he was, he might have spat at them. All of them wield guns; all of them point them straight at Klaus and Dave.

There is a moment of tense silence. Klaus can see other soldiers running down the corridor towards the stairs. And then, all of a sudden, one of the people – the man in the blue mask, Hazel, he knows his name, but he is also suddenly a towering soldier – is giving his gun aside and storming forwards. He and Dave flinch, start spewing apologies, but a hand curls into the fabric of their sweater and yanks them both to their feet anyway. They stumble, hardly staying upright, legs shaking violently, and then they are being shoved towards the door.

They stop apologising and begging. By now, it is useless. It always was useless.

Guns remain trained on him and Dave as they descend stairs, getting closer and closer to the massacre he knows is taking place, and if not for the man’s hand in their sweaters, forcing them onwards, it’s likely he and Dave would have gotten themselves killed by falling down the stairs.

Klaus holds his hands up, just like Dave, in a futile show of surrender, keeping his trembling hands where they can see them even if they often flail as his trembling knees nearly buckle beneath him.

The room spins around him. Klaus struggles to catch his breath. His ears ring, deafeningly loud, echoing in his skull. The room spins around him, and he blinks and everything seems to be blurry and muffled. He just keeps walking wherever he is being marched to.

He expects, as they come to the bottom of the stairs and head towards a room (the living room, he is in the Academy, he knows, but he is somehow also _there_ at the same time and he can’t shake himself out of this state) to see a pile of bodies; an inhuman mass formed of corpses. He expects to see them sprawled out across the ground like skeletons.

He does see bodies; armoured, uniformed bodies spread around, some standing, some crouching. He sees non-uniformed people, a handful of them, fighting, but the fighting all comes to a halt when the group walks in with Klaus and Dave held with guns to their heads.

He hears words. Questions. Demands; demands to know where someone is, a winded explanation, a taunt of victory, the number Five. Five makes sense. They always did everything in fives.

His head spins and he just – he needs to sit down. He can’t keep standing like this; can hardly keep his head and his arms up. His eyelids flutter, dragged down by anchors.

He hears yelling. Arguing. A lot of it. Begging in a familiar voice; in Ben’s voice, pleading Klaus to be safe. The world spins; goes dark for a moment before sparking back to life. His hands feel as if they have been plunged into the icy water they have to wash themselves with, and when he opens his eyes he sees a whirlwind of shocked faces glimmering in a pale blue light, the old sight of Ben’s tentacles, and bodies being thrown around the room. And then there is fighting again; people being taken out swiftly and efficiently by his siblings, and why are they here? Where is he? He doesn’t know anymore.

Ben’s tentacles slip away again and he turns to Klaus with a shocked, awed expression. Klaus’ eyelids flutter and he sways dangerously, his heart twists tremendously, and everything cuts off as if someone has flipped the switch to turn him off. Limply, he tumbles to the ground in a heap of bones, clattering painfully together, though he doesn’t feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhhhh :(


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update's for @siriuspiggyback, I hope ya like it

_Klaus is alone when he wakes up. He wakes up on something hard, while something else digs into his skin. He shifts uncomfortably, but it only makes more things itch and scratch ruthlessly at him. He peels his eyes open and is greeted with a sight that doesn’t surprise him as much as one might think it ought to, but it does make his stomach drop. _

_He heaves his tired body upright, legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and he looks around. The straw-lined bunks around him are empty, for some reason, and it really ought to strike horror into him. He is the only one here, and if he isn’t in roll-call, then he is as good as dead – or, closer to it than he always is. However, despite seeing the empty bunks lined around him, devoid of any human husks, and the inevitable consequences of somehow not having woken up with them, Klaus feels oddly at peace with this. He wonders if he has finally accepted the pain and death that awaits him, or if he simply has no more fear to give. It almost makes him smile, this idea of giving up, if it means he doesn’t have to survive the terror that seizes him every day._

_He slides off the bunk, bare feet slapping against cold stone. He pauses, taking a moment to look around him. It occurs to him that he has never seen this place empty before, and it suddenly feels devouring. Bunks stretch out around him and the sight of them so empty is eerie and disturbing. He has never seen this place without being crowded by corpses, too many corpses to fit in this one building; bustling and overflowing with skeletons. _

_Finally turning away from the empty sight, he lays his eyes on the doors, slightly ajar; sunlight filters in through the slit, highlighting a narrow path that he stops just before his toes can touch it, hesitant to step out from the shadows, to see what lies outside, waiting for him. _

_He raises a hand slowly, placing it on the door, and he nudges it open. He squints his eyes against the sun and hunches his shoulders. His hands come to rest by his chest, knuckles pressed together, fingertips scratching along the fabric of his shirt. He steps out, hesitant and slow, but there is no noise greeting his ears either. No sound of cars or trucks driving around, no sound of an approaching train, no yelling, no screaming, no crying, no gunshots. It unnerves him more than actually hearing the sounds would. _

_The sun bears down on him like it would in the summer, though thankfully the sweltering heat hasn’t accompanied it. It simply warms his skin in a pleasant way that manages to chase the devouring chill from his bones. He turns his face to the sky to greet it, closing his eyes and basking in the silence that feels so wrong. He exploits this moment, basking in it for an eternity, trying to chase away the moment it inevitably ends. He curls his toes into the dirt, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then opens his eyes._

_The camp lays out around him like a ghost town, though Klaus thinks that is ironic because it is also empty of ghosts. It unnerves him. He looks around and sees not a single prisoner or soldier, not a single corpse or ghost. The train tracks are empty as far as he can see, and there are no cars or vans or trucks. There is no one here but him._

_The grass beneath his feet is grey, and the sky, despite being clear and cloudless, is nearly blindingly white. The few buildings around him are grey, sucked free of any hint of colour. He debates whether this is a dream or if he is dead, but he has become too familiar with death and it doesn’t take him that long or much thought to decide which it is. Which just brings him to the question; where is the little girl that typically greets him in such a place?_

_He runs his gaze over all of the barracks around him, and then begins to step between them. He follows the familiar path down to the front row of them, then follows the path into the main area of the camp. He comes to stand in front of the gates, closed over the train tracks, and eyes the world that lays beyond it. His feet carry him right up to the gates and he rests a hand out onto them. He could push them open, if he wanted. He could walk out one of the doors to his left or right, too. He could walk out of this place properly, and see what he’d always wondered that laid out these gates and walls and electric fences. He could go to the town that was nearby, or he could simply walk out and walk forever. _

_A part of him trembles at the idea, and mostly with excitement. He could step outside of this place, shake it off like a snake shedding its skin, and be free. And perhaps he could find some solace in this empty land, wandering free by himself and admiring the sights offered around him. There must be some beautiful places, and if he is dead then he surely he mustn’t feel the need to stop for rest, or food, or water. He could simply exist and admire and be free. Perhaps he could even find some peace._

_Whether it is simply ingrained into him or if it is something inside of himself, he isn’t sure, but he lets his hand slide off of the gate, falling limp by his side. He sighs slowly, shoulders slumping, and wonders if this afterlife is the same for everyone else. If they got to come here and open that gate and walk out._

_For now, Klaus turns around and puts his back to the gate, and begins to walk away from it. He follows the path beside the tracks, the same ones he had lined up by. He can’t help but stop in his tracks when he reaches the end of the path. He remembers where he had stood in line with Dave, where he had waited as someone weighed his fate in their hands, resting on the tip of their thumb and whichever way it pointed. He looks to the left, the opposite direction he had gone in, and stares at the endless field of woman’s barracks, and then he turns forwards again and begins walking._

_With the monochromatic hue to everything here, he can’t tell when it is supposed to be, but with the soft coating of leaves on the ground accompanying the lingering heat, he assumes it must be early autumn. For some reason, he prefers this place in black and white, rather than painted with rubies and golds on the trees, with a fiery tone when the sun begins to sink on the horizon, setting alight everything in its reach in a golden blaze. _

_He follows the path up, taking his time this time around rather than running or marching it. The camp is huge, and the sun should have begun to set from the time he left his barrack, walking all the way down to the front of the camp and then back up in the main section, but the sun doesn’t even seem to lower an inch in the sky. _

_He wanders further still, as if exploring the whole place with a new set of eyes. He has never seen it empty like this, never heard it silent like this, never had the freedom to walk around it. He has never looked around the place; he has simply been in it, and been where he was supposed to be, and kept his head down. He has seen fences and guard-posts and cold, unhygienic buildings through the corners of his eyes, through vision blurred by running. He has never simply paused and taken it in._

_Time passes, and Klaus wonders if this is permanent. The little girl has yet to show herself and nothing has happened. The sun is warm, a breeze cools him pleasantly, the world is grey. He walks up, up, up, and walks past the building he was shaved for the first time in, and where he was tattooed and photographed in, and he follows the path along. He spares glances at the fields around the place, and then he simply stands in place and wonders what he is supposed to do. _

_If he is dead, well and truly dead, he supposes he could do whatever he wants. The thought that this death is permanent, rather than all of the ones that happened here, is bitterly ironic. He had died multiple times over here, and then he had gotten home only to die and be sent back here. He can’t help but laugh to himself, smiling fiercely and shaking his head. _

_He can’t even remember how he died. Not properly. It had all been a haze, his mind ringing like white noise, torn between here and the Academy, and he had felt so tired and so weak and so confused. Something inside of him had been pulled, as if Luther had been playing tug-o-war with his intestines, and then everything simply ended and he woke up here. _

_He feels horrible for leaving Dave. Dave will struggle there by himself, of course, and he’ll expect Klaus to pop back up like usual. He’d be in a time and place he didn’t know, surrounded by strangers who don’t know how to approach him and his trauma and what he has been through. Klaus doesn’t know how he will get through that, but he hopes that he can. Hopes that he can end up living a good life, eventually. Klaus will wait for him, he decides. But if Dave lives a long life and dies in years, will he come here? He will have changed, and Klaus will be like this, in this place, just like a ghost of his past to haunt him. Maybe it would be better if Dave lived a long life and died and went somewhere else, and Klaus went on for eternity by himself in this place._

_Sighing, Klaus turns around and begins to retrace his steps backwards. He walks along the tracks this time, watching his bare feet step along the wooden slabs on the tracks. He takes them one at a time, slowly, and doesn’t look at the dips in the ground either side and doesn’t imagine them full of luggage and doesn’t imagine families lining up either side and doesn’t imagine them being torn apart. He just keeps walking._

_At least, with being dead, his legs don’t hurt. They would hurt by now. He would have collapsed by now; but now he doesn’t even feel tired. He walks the length of the camp back down and reaches the gates once more, coming face to face with them. He presses his lips together, wraps his arms around his torso. He’s pleased to see that he isn’t wearing the rags he wore here; he is still wearing the clothes from the Academy. It is an insignificant victory._

_He stares through the bars of the gates, exhaling slowly, and then places his hands on them again. He rocks on his feet and turns to look over his shoulder at the empty, silent camp. It looks like it does in the photos, he thinks. All black and white and frozen in time, but it is not destroyed and there are no prisoners or soldiers inside. It feels like it is its own pocket in space, being trapped in those electric fences. _

_His fingers curl around the bars of the gate and he exhales again, chest falling slowly, and he forces his gaze back to the outside world. Anxiety bubbles up in his veins and this is wrong, so wrong. If he got caught, he cannot imagine the punishment. If they were kind, or too bored of him, they would just shoot him and it would be quick. If they wanted to make an example of him, then it would not be. _

_But no one is here but him. No one can touch him, no one can hurt him. He knows this. He tells himself it repeatedly, and mutters it out into the air around him. He grips the bars until his knuckles are paler than his hands. He should push them open, just enough so that he can slip out of them, or he should throw them wide open, completely open, and shatter the barrier between it and the world beyond, as if breaking a lock on a cage. He should just do that. He should leave. _

_He wills himself to do it; braces himself and counts down from three, and then from five, but each time he reaches zero his muscles go tense and he cannot bring himself to push nor pull. Frustration and desperation coils like snakes in his guts and his face screws up and he cannot make himself do it still. With a cry, he takes his hands from the gates and balls them into trembling fists in the air and feels tears fall from his cheeks. He digs his nails into his palms, trembling with anger and hatred and frustration, and why can’t he just leave this place? Why is he doomed to be haunted by it forever?_

_Klaus covers his face with his hands and tries to calm himself down. He wipes at his cheeks and breathes slowly until he is composed, as best as he can be, and his hands curl into loose fists that hang limp by his side, and he glares at the gates with venom. He stares at them for what feels like an eternity, time just ticking by without ever changing, time in which he tells himself to go forwards and just shove the gates open and walk out, time in which he doesn’t move a spot from the place he has been rooted to, until he finally slumps in defeat. Closing his eyes, Klaus turns away from the gates and begins to walk away. _

_His feet carry him away from the gates until he is nearly in the centre of the camp, and then he simply stops and lets it surround him. He shakes his hands out by his sides and looks around at the place, then he exhales a slow sigh and sinks down until he is sitting on the ground. He wraps his arms around his knees and crosses his ankles and tilts his head up to look at the sky, squinting his eyes against the sun. _

_How long will he be here for? What will happen now? Perhaps he will sit here for eternity, and perhaps he will think back to what happened here. Maybe he will weave in and out of each building surrounding him in search of anyone else, only to be reassured that he is utterly alone here. Maybe the place will melt back into what it once was and Five saving him and Dave will just have been a dream and he will once more wake up there. _

_It is nearly frightening to be without Dave. He can find little comfort these days, but Dave offers most, if not all, of it. Whether it is just having a familiar face and knowing he isn’t alone, or if he just has a comforting presence, he can’t be sure. Maybe it is the way Dave is reassuring and offers a sliver of safety in the way he can translate what Klaus can’t understand, and he can teach Klaus what he might need to say. Knowing how to count to thirty could be the difference between death and delayed-death, and Dave taught him how to count to thirty. Perhaps having Dave simply gave him a last reason to try. Klaus has always done things for himself, done what he thought he needed to survive all for himself, but in this situation, where he has been stretched utterly thin and further than he can be, worn down to nearly nothing, perhaps alone he would have utterly given up on living for himself, too. But he needed to survive here not only for himself, but for Dave, and some days that thought is what would make him pick himself up off the floor. _

_He wonders what might have happened if they never ran, if they never escaped. If they realised he couldn’t die, at least not while he was there, apparently. He isn’t sure he wants to know what might have happened. He can’t imagine it would be ignored, and that he would remain simply in the camps. He supposes that there is always worse that can happen, no matter how insane that might feel when presented with indescribable horrors, but it can always be worse. It never seems to stop getting worse, he thinks._

_Something moves to his left._

_His eyes snap open and his head whips to the side, startled, and his eyes narrow when he sees a form walking down towards him. His body tenses and he places his hands on the ground, ready to push himself upright onto his feet, but the figure is small, he thinks. Like a child. He has seen him here before, of course, but the sight will never cease to make him feel sick, even if it is some cosmic entity._

_He doesn’t stand up for the familiar face. She approaches him leisurely, dress blowing around her shins in the breeze, and she looks around the place with pursed lips and furrowed brows before finally looking down at him. With smooth movements, she sits on the ground beside him. _

_“Odd so empty,” she comments. “You’d expect it to be peaceful. I don’t know if I feel that.”_

_Klaus huffs a breath, looking away from here and to the dozens of barracks built out in the distance in front of him. “There were over four-hundred people where I slept,” he says. “In one of those buildings.” He isn’t sure why he is telling her this. Maybe just to spite her. If she let him be there, then she can know all of the details of what happened there, even if she knows already, but this time she can hear it from his own mouth. “Couldn’t even sleep on my back. Not enough room, until the guy in front of me died, but someone else moved there so it never really mattered.”_

_The girl doesn’t say anything. She does follow his gaze, though, out to the rows of buildings. He huffs slightly when she remains silent, shaking his head. His fingers dig into his knees. “Why am I here, then?” He asks, turning to face her. “What’s happening this time? You stopped entertaining me when I started cussing you out. Is this it? Is this one for real, then?”_

_“It’s a bit complicated,” she says, shrugging. “We’ll see.”_

_Klaus quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“If I were to send you back right now, you’d just die again,” she tells him. “You haven’t got the energy for it.”_

_“That’s never stopped you before.”_

_“You never used your powers before. You’ve got nothing else to use now, and to send you back I rely at least partly on that.”_

_Klaus’ eyebrows furrow. “I don’t get it.”_

_Sighing, the girl says, “imagine your powers are a bit like a bridge between realms. And before you died, you used your powers more than you should have; the bridge is weak. It would break if you crossed it. So, until either your powers have rested, I can’t send you back and I have no idea how long that will take. Or someone from the other side is going to have to bring you back their way, but with how weak your body is, that’s a gamble too.”_

_Klaus turns his gaze away from her, frowning. “Huh,” he murmurs. Then; “what do you mean, I used my powers?”_

_“You were a bit out of it, I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” she muses, and Klaus swallows back the urge to ask again. “You manifested your brother, Ben. Made him corporeal. It took what little was left in you.”_

_“What?” Klaus blurts, wide eyes settling on her. “I can’t – my powers are useless. I can’t do anything like that.”_

_“You can if you’re sober,” she says, raising her eyebrows._

_“Then why didn’t I-“_

_“No reason to,” she cuts him off. “And you didn’t know you could, and the ghosts didn’t interact with you, either. If one of them tried to grab you, maybe you would have made them corporeal then, but they didn’t. I’m assuming you doing it with Ben was because you two have a closer connection and you thought you were going to die; it was an attempt to save yourself without you even realising.”_

_Klaus frowns at her, pressing his lips together. “How – how would Ben save me?”_

_“Well, besides the obvious, but you probably didn’t even mean for him to literally save you. You were used to him being there for you all the time, used to wanting him to help you. I’m sure there’s been times when you were hurt and afraid and just wanted to be able to touch him. You probably did it more so out of wanting his comfort rather than expecting him to help you.”_

_“But-“_

_“If you made him corporeal, then you made the little monsters he comes with corporeal, too. He took care of the Commission members attacking you all. It was quite a spectacle, really.”_

_Klaus blinks, looking away, and down at his hands. There has been plenty of times he had wished for nothing more than being able to reach out and touch his brother, plenty of times he knows Ben had wanted nothing more than to be able to either help or comfort him, but it was impossible, of course. He is a ghost. It is just how things are; they will never be able to touch one another. But if what she said is true…_

_“Kind of ironic that I tried to save myself by killing myself,” he mutters, and the girl huffs a half-laugh. _

_“Well it worked, sort of,” she says, almost like an attempt at a joke, and Klaus doesn’t laugh._

_“What happens if they don’t save me?” He asks after a pause. The words weigh heavy on his tongue and he looks around. “Am I stuck here?”_

_“I’m afraid so,” she says, truly looking almost apologetic, and Klaus smiles with a bitterness. _

_“Why here?” He asks. “I know we can go somewhere else so why – why here? Why am I stuck here again?”_

_“You could leave,” the girl states, and Klaus glares at her._

_“No I can’t,” he snaps. “I tried the gates. They wouldn’t open.”_

_“You wouldn’t open them,” she says, and Klaus grits his teeth together. _

_“I tried-“_

_“I know you did,” she says, cutting him off, and she rises to her feet now. “But you’re stopping yourself from opening them.”_

_Klaus, hurriedly rising to his feet too, says, “what the hell does that mean?”_

_The girl gives him a soft look. “You’re afraid,” she says, and Klaus’ hands ball into fists._

_“Of course I’m afraid,” he says, and he tries to make it bitter and venomous and fails. “That doesn’t mean I can’t open some gates.”_

_“Then go open them,” she says, nodding her head in the direction of them. Klaus stares at her, wired up and tense. “Nothing is stopping you from walking out here now but yourself. I’m not saying I blame you, but fear itself can be a bigger prison than a physical one.”_

_“That’s bullshit,” he snorts. The girl smiles._

_“Usually, yes. Not here. _ _If your family cannot bring you back, then maybe while you wait you can find it in yourself to open those gates. You’re not trapped here,” she says, and then she begins to walk away. Klaus feels rooted into the spot, watching her go._

_“Wait,” he calls, and then again, “wait, hey, come back! We’re not done talking, I-“ he turns, looking over his shoulder at those gates in the distance, and then he turns back. The girls is gone, and he startles. He looks around the place, blinking, trying to find her again, but the place is utterly empty and deserted. His shoulders fall._

_“Damnit,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around himself as he begins to tremble faintly. “God fucking damnit.” He scrubs a hand down his face, blinking furiously at the grey, unmoving sky above him. Then, with gritted teeth and fists by his side, he spins around and begins to march down to the gates. Even with this new surge of determination in himself, the closer he gets the more he begins to falter. He stops marching and takes a slow step at a time, hesitant to reach it and be confronted with the truth of not being able to open it. _

_He comes face to face with the gates and exhales heavily. He stares at the land unfolding beyond the gates, land he could go to if he just opens them. He places his hands on the bars, curling his fingers like tendrils around them. His arms tremble with anticipation, and-_

_He can’t push them. It’s as if a mental barrier comes down between his intention and the action, stopping himself from doing it. His eyes flutter closed in defeat and he hangs his head. Slowly, he begins to sink to the floor, leaning against the cold, unmoving gates, and he wraps his arms around himself. Emotions simmer in his guts and he shoves them all down to bask in the blissful nothingness around this place, as if trying to disconnect his mind from this body and this place, but when he opens his eyes it is still there and he cannot avoid it._

_Something in his stomach begins to twist and he turns his head to peer between the bars, following the path beyond the camp, and stares at slightly swaying trees as an icy feeling begins to flood his body, creeping up through his bones. Klaus closes his eyes against it, gritting his teeth as it feels as if he has been submerged in an icy body of water and he just continues to keep sinking lower and lower into its depths, no end in sight, body suspended between freezing water. His body hits the bottom, finally, like a discarded corpse forgotten at the end of a never-ending sea._

_Klaus wakes up._


	11. Chapter 11

Dave is having a hard time.

Though to say that would be a spectacular fucking understatement, because in reality he is desperately clinging to his own sanity, scrambling to hold together the frayed ends of his mind, but he thinks he is doing a pretty good job of that, all things considering. 

The gunshots send him spiralling again, unsurprisingly. They send Klaus spiralling, too, because he knows the look on his face; it is the exact same one that he wears, too. 

Being forced downstairs is a bit of a haze. He stumbles, but is always held up by the fist in his clothes. He smells rotting and burning corpses and dirt and it makes his eyes water, but the smell is coming from nowhere, because he is inside the Academy. The pristine Academy, with not a single trace of dirt on it, and no chimney expelling smoke from burned bodies constantly working all day every day. So he knows the people attacking them are not, in fact, any of the soldiers, officers, or Kapo, but that doesn’t change the fact that there is no fucking way Dave is going to do a single thing about it. He can’t. And even if he wasn’t limited solely by his weak body, he highly doubts his mind would let him react in any way other than submissive compliance. Besides, his idea of fighting is much less physical and more smaller, quiet, hidden acts of rebellion that he hopefully wouldn’t even be caught for, probably (maybe) not be killed for, but certainly punished for. A glare at someone’s back, helping someone to their feet, stealing a slice of turnip, taking a moment to rest or slowing in his work; holding Klaus’ hand or ghosting his skin with his lips in the dark of night. It was the only kind of fight or rebellion he could do and (maybe) not die for if caught.   
  
But to actually fight, to actually turn around and hit his captor, or punch them, or yell at them; God, no. He couldn’t do it. He does not think there is a single thing that could happen to spur him onto doing such a thing. 

So, instead, he holds his hands up, tries to ground himself in the present (future, really, because he’s in the fucking future, not his present) and complies with the people shoving him into the living room and in front of Klaus’ siblings. 

He really ought to be paying attention, but his ears still ring with gunshots and it isn’t like he’s going to do anything if he hears bad news, or anything. Instead, he focuses on the only important things, which are; remaining standing upright on his feet, remaining in the present, and Klaus.

Klaus is – he does not look good. Not that he has looked good in a while, but he looks as if he is handling this situation worse than Dave, and he isn’t sure if that is in a physical sense or a mental sense. Klaus, he knows, has not gotten much rest since they got here – he has hardly gotten much decent sleep either, but he’s gotten more sleep and much more rest than Klaus has, since Klaus has been seemingly determined to run around the place and push himself. Not that Dave doesn’t understand, but he also understands that Klaus – really can’t keep doing that much longer. Going up the stairs once is hard enough, going up them multiple times is physically impossible. Forcing himself to do that would just exhaust himself until his heart couldn’t handle it. Combined with the stress, well-

Klaus simply does not look good at all. His eyelids are fluttering, eyes themselves distant and unfocused, and his hands have begun to fall low, down to his waist now, and he is hyperventilating. There is yelling, and arguing, and Klaus is swaying and blinking, and there is more yelling, and Dave needs to be closer to Klaus so he can lean on him, and there is yelling, and Klaus’ hands are glowing and-

A monster tears through the room. Dave falls to the floor as the attackers all go for it, and he stays on his knees, stooped low, eyes wide in horror and maybe a little bit of awe. 

Dave doesn’t know a lot about the mind. Nor do doctors, really – at least, not when he was growing up, but now he’s in the future and so that might have, hopefully will have, changed. But he knows all about the talk of shell-shock on soldiers in the Great War and the psychological effects of war on soldiers, so he knows that one can indeed be mentally ill and struggle in terms of the mind. He knows about depression, and people who hallucinate, and – maybe he doesn’t know a lot, to be fair – he was never taught about it and learned mostly in stories and reading and in the news and such - but he knows stuff like that exist, and probably a lot more than that, too, and so not for the first time Dave wonders, again, about what is real, and what this means if it is real, and how far he is from being declared insane, because he really doesn’t think he’s that far from it. He’d be surprised if he couldn’t be called that now, honestly. 

But, well, Dave can have that breakdown later. He probably can’t put it off too long, but he still has it in him to put it off for a little longer. For now, as the monster disappears, the monster Klaus – did something to, or with, he doesn’t know – he turns to Klaus just in time to watch that light fade from his hands. 

Klaus doesn’t seem very aware of what just happened or the fact that he had any part in it, which is – fair, considering he doesn’t look all that coherent. In fact, he stands, eyes half-lidded, and he sways as he has been since they got downstairs, and Dave watches as his eyes roll back into his skull and he collapses. 

He isn’t fast enough to get there before he hits the floor, but he scrambles over a moment after and pulls Klaus onto his lap. Klaus is eerily still, looks exactly like a corpse, but that’s okay, because Dave knows he’s not. Because Klaus is alive, because he has to be, but everyone alive there looked dead anyway, and he has seen Klaus – close to death, closer than usual, anyway, and has seen Klaus literally dead (although to think about those times makes Dave feel sick) but he’s always still alive in the end. He is, however, exhausted. No wonder he collapsed. So, Dave will keep him close and as safe as he can until he wakes up again. It’s all he can do. 

He supports Klaus’ head; holds him to his chest, and although he isn’t in an exactly comfortable position, he can hold it as long as it takes Klaus to wake up.

And then there are people rushing over.

Dave flinches away none too-subtlety, eyes wide, and he shuffles away before he remembers it is only Klaus’ siblings. Nonetheless, his grip on Klaus doesn’t loosen a bit; if anything, it simply tightens. 

Diego, he knows, and Allison collapse on their knees in front of him, reaching out, and he knows it’s his siblings but Klaus is unconscious and vulnerable and Dave needs to keep him safe, for both Klaus and for himself, and Diego comes close and reaches out with a fingers stained in blood and knives on his body and broad shoulders and carefully-cut hair and a body that fills out his clothes and the only men that he has seen like that are the men that hurt them and he cannot let Klaus be hurt, so he shuffles back, taking Klaus with him, holding him tighter against his chest. 

Diego frowns at him, a flash of anger in his eyes, and his body responds with a jolt of ice cold fear that steals his breath away and he is very aware of Luther towering over Diego’s shoulder, but then Allison places a hand on Diego’s shoulder, urges him back a couple inches, and moves herself closer along with Vanya. 

“Is he okay?” Vanya asks him, voice cutting through the ringing in his ears, and Dave nods jerkily, looking down at Klaus. The women – he never saw many women, there. They were all split, after all. He’d see the female prisoners in passing, but they were in the same condition as him and never a threat. He saw other women, ones who weren’t prisoners, very few times depending on where he worked, and they looked at him with disgust and whisper and giggle, but he rarely saw them and they were never the people who actually hurt him, so he doesn’t feel that same burn of fear that he does when he looks at Diego and Luther.

Allison smiles at him gently and Vanya continues to talk. “Can we check him?” She asks, shuffling closer on her knees, and Dave stares down at Klaus and hesitates for several moments before nodding. He shifts his grip so that Allison can see him, and she reaches out a hand, stroking his head. Then she frowns, eyes narrowing, comes closer. Eyes him, scrutinises him, then, a little hurriedly, she moves her hand down to his neck.

She turns, wide-eyed and breathy, and then grabs Vanya's hands, pushing it to his neck. Vanya copies her expression quickly and looks to her siblings and back to Dave, then announces, "he - he has no pulse." Dave feels a spike of panic at her statement but-

Dave has carried Klaus, beaten and bloody and completely dead, and he came back. He has woken up to Klaus’ lips tinged blue, chest still, unresponsive. Klaus has been undeniably dead – and yet he has come back every time. Therefore, Klaus will come back again, because he always does, because he has to. 

"W-_what_?" Diego blurts, and he hurries forwards, pushing through when Dave flinches, and he reaches out. “Dave, you need to give him to me,” he says, urgent, and everyone else is pressing with their urgency too, except for Vanya, who hurries off to find their mother. 

“He’s – he’s fine,” Dave states, holding Klaus tighter to himself. 

“Dave,” says Vanya, voice trembling slightly. “Diego needs to take him to the infirmary – _please_, Dave, you have to let go, he needs help-“

“He’s fine,” he insists, shaking his head. “He’ll come back, he always does, he’s _fine_-“

“We haven’t got time for this,” Luther says, and he feels as if he’s been backed into a corner. They’re going to take Klaus away from him, and he’ll never see him again, and Dave feels that breakdown from earlier pressing in on him again. He shakes his head furiously, but no matter what he thinks or feels, when Diego comes close to him and grabs Klaus, he can’t refuse or fight back. He hates himself for it, and he scrambles upwards onto his feet to follow after them as they take him away. His legs shake, knees buckling, but he forces himself onwards.

Diego lays Klaus down on a bed and Dave watches his mother come close, pressing her fingers to his neck, and he never doesn’t feel thrown by the sight of her because she looks so much more familiar than anyone else does to Dave, and he isn’t sure whether or not that helps him or makes his whole situation worse. 

Grace urges everyone away from Klaus, giving them space, and then she pauses and glances at him just before she pulls a curtain around herself and Klaus. “Allison, dear, would you help Dave sit down?” She asks, smiling sweetly, and then she closes the curtain.

Dave does not feel comfortable in this situation, not at all, not when a group of people all turn their attention to him and he has spent the past however-long desperately trying to avoid any and every kind of attention, but Allison lets out a shaky breath and nods to herself. 

She slides up to his side, gently rests a hand on his elbow, and guides him over to a bed just on the other side of the curtain separating himself and Klaus, and it definitely isn’t close enough, but it will do for now. He sits on the bed and can’t help but feel weird at being surrounded by medical supplies without being stripped naked, prodded and poked at, and also surrounded by people who might as well have been corpses. 

He hugs his arms to himself and watches the outline of Grace. He knows Klaus will come back. He knows he will. It might just take some time.

He has no idea how long Klaus had been dead for when he rolled him over that winter night, but it was long enough to drain all the colour from his skin and turn his lips blue, although it only took a minute or so of Dave shaking him for him to respond. The second time had been longer, but he hadn’t died straight away. He had curled up on the floor, twitching and wheezing for perhaps twenty agonisingly long minutes before he had stopped. Roll-call had gone on for another half hour in which he and Elijah stood as if Klaus’ body wasn’t right by their toes, beaten into the dirt, and then Elijah had helped Dave pick him up, and Klaus woke up as they all dispersed and they made their way to the crematorium, or, more likely, any of the many piles of bodies in line for the crematorium. 

That had been too close a call.

So they just need to wait. He finds himself strangely calm, floating in a numb state as he sits on the bed and waits and waits and waits, ignoring the murmur of Klaus’ siblings that comes to a sharp halt when Grace starts talking.

“Take it easy, dear, you’re okay. Everything’s alright, just relax.”

There is some shuffling, and then moaning that is definitely Klaus. His eyes slip shut in relief, although he knew Klaus would come back. He always does. He has to come back.

Grace continues to speak to him gently for a while before she finally comes out, pulls the curtain back, and hushes the siblings as they all leap to their feet.

“Be quiet,” she says. “Your brother is exhausted and needs the rest.” Sure enough, Klaus is asleep. Not dead, even if he looks it, because his chest is rising and falling. His siblings slump with visible relief. Diego drags his hands through his hair, rocking on his feet with the need to pace, and Luther slumps down into a chair, and Allison lets out a noise, and Vanya moans and steadies herself, and Five relaxes only slightly. 

“He’s – he’s okay?” Asks Diego. 

“He’s alive,” says his mother. That isn’t reassuring to any of them, and it isn’t surprising at all to Dave. Klaus has not been okay in a long time, and that’s strictly in a physical sense.

_We need to talk about this_, Allison's notepad announces, and her eyes stray to Dave briefly, face twisting. She nods to the door. 

“She’s right,” says Five, nodding his agreement. “We need to sit down and talk about this. We can’t keep ignoring it and think it’ll sort itself out.”

They all look at her, holding their breath, but then they all agree and Allison points to the door before walking over. 

“Right now?” Echoes Diego, staring at Klaus. “He just – he…”

“He’ll rest,” says Five. “And we aren’t going to wake him up. We ought to do it now and sort some things out before he wakes up, so we can be ready.”

“For what?” Asks Luther, and Five grits his teeth.

“To fucking help,” he snaps. “So come on.”

They are all reluctant to do so, evidently, but they slip outside. They might stay just outside the door, Dave doesn’t know. He can hear them murmuring distantly, but he doesn’t pay any attention to them.

He slips out of bed and sits on Klaus’ instead. Klaus doesn’t twitch, but his chest rises and falls. Dave seeks his hand out and holds it in his; sleeps his fingers between Klaus’ and holds his hand on his lap. Grace does a couple of check overs on Klaus again, and then she comes and checks on him, too, but he is unhurt. She stays in the room with them, but when Dave sinks down beside Klaus, resting his head on his bony shoulder, close enough that he can hear every breath Klaus takes and exhales, she doesn’t say anything. Nor does she say anything when his eyes slip closed dislodges tears from them that slip down his cheeks. 

If nothing else, even after so long and so much, Klaus is still beside him. His chest rises and falls.

  
#### 

  
It is hard, to confront the truth. Or, the extent of the truth, perhaps. Diego was the one to find Klaus first, and he was the first to know where Klaus was. Five found him there, sure enough. The proof is written all over Klaus and Dave. There is still a part of Diego that had probably hoped and thought that getting Klaus home would be the hardest part of all of this. Klaus would come home, maybe struggle for a couple of days, but he would be fine.

Getting Klaus back was by far the easiest part of it all. 

He knows this. But none of them have exactly been very good at confronting problems, and none of them have any fucking clue where to even start with this. 

Thing is, though, they almost lost Klaus right in front of them, and it wasn’t because he was injured. He didn’t get shot, or even hit. He didn’t get thrown anywhere. He collapsed – died – purely because using his powers took so much energy out of him. Really, it was only a matter of time. He was running on nothing, and it was going to happen sooner rather than later, whether or not he managed to use his powers or not.

So, the conversation that takes place is entirely unpleasant but also entirely necessary, because Allison and Five are right. They can’t keep running from this and hoping that nothing but time will fix them, because that is obviously not going to happen.

_They should be in hospital and therapy_, Allison states, pen hurrying across paper.

“Good luck getting Klaus into either of those, but you’re right,” Five mutters, sighing. “We need to keep a closer eye on them. Should have, after Klaus got into the alcohol.”

"They shouldn’t be going up and down the stairs so much," adds Vanya, eying the staircase. "They don’t need to be doing that every day. It'd be easier for Grace to watch them if they were down here, too.”

“I don’t think they need anything from upstairs,” says Luther. “They can use the beds in the infirmary.”

“Probably for the better,” Five agrees, pursing his lips. “Klaus is up too much when he should be resting, but at least if he’s downstairs then he doesn’t have to go as far to get to anywhere. Kitchen is just down there, bathrooms are everywhere, so is the living room.”

_I was thinking_, Allison pipes up, toying with her lip and holding out her notepad again. _We should watch the kitchen, I think._

“What?” Asks Diego, confused and frowning. Allison waves a hand in the kitchen’s vague direction.

_He ate everything he could get his hands on until he looked like he was going to be sick. They both need to build their weight back up, but it’s going to do more harm if they just eat anything they want at random times._ She pauses, thinking and shaking her hand out, and then continues._ A schedule would be good. Grace will know meals that are okay for them, but a schedule will help them too. But if they both act like that first night again, they’re going to make themselves sick. Their bodies won’t be able to handle so much food, and half of the snacks they would go for that they could eat immediately_.

“She’s got a point,” Five murmurs thoughtfully, a distant look briefly crossing his face. “We’ll talk to Grace about setting that up, then.” 

“What about – what happened,” Luther murmurs, and everyone pauses. Because Ben was most definitely there, taking out the Commission members with his Horror, and Klaus’ hands were glowing and he was doing that. Ben was there – Ben is probably still here. Klaus was never lying about Ben being there. 

Diego isn’t entirely sure he wants to deal with that. Not on top of everything. He does, however, desperately want to see Ben again, but he painfully accepts that the chances of Klaus doing that again any time soon are slim to none. And he shouldn’t, considering it literally killed him, and-

Fuck. 

Diego has no idea what he’s doing. He’s still reeling from the moment he saw Klaus and Dave get marched into the living room with guns to their heads, still reeling from Ben, still reeling from Klaus collapsing, from Dave flinching, from Dave refusing to let him go, and how light and fragile Klaus was in his arms and how he both looked and felt like a corpse and-

Diego thinks that the moment he is in a bedroom alone he is going to have a break down. Until then, though, he needs to get his head out of his ass and help his brother. 

He still doesn’t know a lot about Dave – hardly anything, really – but he evidently cares for his brother, and he can’t imagine what they’ve been through together. He can’t imagine he’s handling it any better, though. 

He zones back into the conversation, though barely, as he turns his gaze to the infirmary door. He thinks the others have reluctantly pushed aside the Ben topic for now, coming to the same conclusion as Diego. He hears something about schedules and alcohol and Luther volunteering to throw it out, and he remembers the feel of Klaus’ spine pressing into his arm as he carried him into the infirmary, and he remembers the photos he found of his brother. 

He’ll do better. He has to. Although he can’t imagine being physically able to do worse than forgetting about Klaus as he travelled through time and got stuck there. 

The door is slightly ajar, and he can just see over to Klaus’ bed. Dave is there on it with him, though that doesn’t surprise him considering they are basically inseparable, and he doesn’t think Klaus is actually awake again yet, although that’s probably a good thing. The bags beneath his eyes are dark enough to imitate bruises. 

With a sigh that struggles to leave his lips due to the tightness in his chest, Diego turns back to his siblings and tunes back into the conversation. 

  
#### 

  
There is a hand in his.

It is the first thing he notices as he begins to wake up, shortly followed by the weight on his shoulder. He already knows who it is without having to open his eyes, and so he squeezes Dave’s hand and makes a poor attempt at shuffling a little closer to him in bed – because he is most definitely in a bed, a proper bed. Dave twitches and lifts his head, and another hand comes to rest on his cheek.

“Klaus?” Asks Dave, voice gentle and quiet. 

“Mhmm?” He hums, eyes remaining closed. He does feel utterly exhausted, enough so that he will probably fall asleep again within five minutes, and he thinks back to his and the Little Girl’s conversation about manifesting Ben. He should probably talk to his brother about that soon, but – later.

“Are you okay?” Asks Dave, a little hesitant. Klaus forces his eyes open, squinting at him. 

“Tired,” he admits, closing his eyes again. Dave hums his acknowledgement, stroking his cheek.

“You died, again.”

“I know.”

Dave swallows, so Klaus squeezes his hand and adds, “I always come back, though.”

“I know,” Dave murmurs. He runs his hand back to absently stroke the back of his head, through the short fuzz of hair, ghosting close to the scar there. “You should sleep,” he says after a moment. Klaus doesn’t need to be told twice, and this time he lets himself fall asleep without his usual reluctance. 

Dave’s shoulder digs into him uncomfortably and his own hips press against Dave’s, sharp enough that they’ll both probably have bruises if they stay like this for long, but it’s familiar and comforting to Klaus nonetheless, because it’s Dave, and it almost helps lull him to sleep. Klaus only hopes he’s exhausted enough to stay asleep and get any substantial amount of rest this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, but I considered a little glimpse into an outsider POV following Klaus', uh, death, would be useful, so there we have it. Feel free to let me know what you thought <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I most definitely did _not_ completely forget Allison still got hurt in this verse last chapter. Not at all. What kind of writer would I be to do such a thing?  
On that note, I have fixed it, and we shall never discuss it

As always, Dave is there when he wakes up. For a moment he thinks he might also be asleep, but when Klaus lifts his head to stare at him, his eyes slip open to stare back at him.

_“Morgen,” _Dave murmurs, and Klaus’ lips twitch slightly.

“Morning,” he repeats, squeezing Dave’s hand. He rests his head back down on his shoulder, sighing softly. He doesn’t exactly feel refreshed from sleeping – he thinks he never will, no matter how long he sleeps for – but he can’t remember a nightmare, and he didn’t wake up after an hour, and there is no urgency pressing in on him. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept his eyes closed, he could convince himself he was waking up in his bed, in his bedroom, with Dave, on any other normal day, like normal people.

Dave’s fingers run along the side of his face. The touch runs along his cheek and down along his jaw and his chin. His thumb strokes him there for a moment, then continues back on down his neck, cupping the back of it, and then starts going back up. Klaus loses himself in the touch for a while, revelling in it, pretends nothing else exists. Maybe he even almost dozes off again, lulled by Dave’s comforting touch. Eventually, though, at the sound of heels clicking on the floor coming closer to him Klaus has to drag himself out of the moment and lift his head to watch Grace come to his side.

Offering a smile, she asks, “how are you feeling?”

“M’fine,” he says, sitting up a little with Dave. Nonetheless, Grace still fusses over him for several minutes. She holds back her comments about his general wellbeing, at least, deciding that for now he is not about to keel over and die (again) and that’s about as much as Klaus could have hoped for. It’s good enough for him, anyway.

“Your siblings have been waiting for you to wake up,” she comments, brushing her hand along his forehead. “Are you alright if I let them in?”

Klaus’ eyes bounce to the door before nodding. With an unwavering smile, Grace wandered over to the door and opened it to reveal all of his siblings standing there, looking anxious. He sits up even further, Dave’s hand on his back steadying him absentmindedly, and then his siblings all hurry over.

He braces himself for questions – questions about Ben, probably, since he assumes it is thanks to Grace that he came back rather than doing so on his own, so they likely don’t know about his ability to keep coming back from death.

Instead, however, he is enveloped by arms.

He can’t help but let out a sound of surprise and he tenses instinctively, eyes screwing shut, but it is only a hug. Slowly, with Dave gently stroking his back, he unwinds his muscles enough to pat Diego on the back. And then there’s another hand on his shoulder – Allison – and another on his arm – Vanya – and Luther and Five hover awkwardly, but none less worried and relieved to see him.

Diego pulls back, one hand remaining on his other shoulder as he looks him up and down. “You’re alright?” He asks, frowning.

“Fine,” repeats Klaus, nodding. He’s still a little shocked that that, of all things, is the first question he has been asked, he would have considered Ben’s impromptu appearance to be a little more pressing, but apparently not.

Diego lets out an audible sigh, nodding. “Alright, okay. That’s – that’s good.”

“Mmm,” hums Klaus, looking down as he picks at the bedsheets beneath on his lap. “What happened?” He asks, because the whole situation before his death was a complete blur.

“Commission attacked,” says Five, stepping closer. “Found you guys, tried to use you against us, and then…” Five waves a hand, eyes burning into Klaus. “You did something with Ben.”

He almost doesn’t waver on his name. His eyes scour the room until he finally finds his brother.

“Right here,” says Ben, voice gentle, as he walks through their siblings to come to stand near him. “Take it easy.”

“Is he – is he here?” Asks Vanya, sounding a little cautious. Swallowing, Klaus nods and points at him.

“Right there,” he murmurs, dropping his hand. “I don’t – I don’t know how I did that.”

“It’s okay,” says Diego quickly, waving one hand. “Don’t worry about that, just-“ He pauses, inhales, flexes his hands. “Tell him – tell him hi.”

“He can hear you,” Klaus murmurs, watching Ben smile sadly.

“Hey, guys,” says his brother, and Klaus relays that to everyone else and doesn’t pay too much attention to their reactions.

“He’s really there?” Asks Luther. Klaus smiles wryly.

“Always has been,” he utters, staring at him. He decides, however, that he doesn’t really feel like having this conversation right now and unpacking years of all the drama surrounding Ben. Instead, he turns his attention elsewhere. He begins to shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, pushing the blankets off his lap.

“What are you doing?” Asks Diego, hurrying forwards to put a hand on his shoulder and keep him on the bed. “Bro, you need to rest. You’re officially on bedrest down here so that Mom can keep a close eye on you – on the both of you.”

Klaus frowns slightly at that, but that’s probably fair and he hasn’t actually got a problem with that. It’s probably for the best. “I was going to get food,” he says quietly, glancing to the door. “I’m hungry.”

His siblings exchange odd looks at that and Klaus wonders if he said something wrong, but surely not. Allison offers a small smile and nudges Luther. “Mom was going to cook dinner for everyone in an hour or so,” he states. “Think you could wait until then?”

Klaus blinks at him. His first reaction is to ask why. Or, well, his first reaction is actually to say _yes_ and then keep his mouth shout, but he still also wants to ask why. The kitchen is close and open, they don’t _need_ to wait. He doesn’t want to, because he knows he doesn’t have to, and it’s always a little thrilling to exploit the opportunities he has here.

It makes sense, though. No point making Grace cook twice in an hour, although Klaus doesn’t mind whether or not his food is hot or cold. A little reluctantly, he nods and eases himself back onto the bed, sinking next to Dave, and he hopes that they don’t have soup again, or anything that vaguely resembles soup, or stew, or broth, or tea, or coffee, or anything watery or similar, although the kind Grace has given them is much better in terms of taste and consistency – and undoubtedly more healthy, too – than the food there. He thinks he could readily eat a whole buffet and then some, and one would think that is a good thing, considering he needs to put on some weight again.

Still, for now he will wait, even if he thinks back to all the food hidden in his wardrobe upstairs that he could be eating right now.

His siblings relax a little when he doesn’t push. “Mom could make some tea for now, if you want?” Offers Vanya instead. Klaus doesn’t want tea. He wants real food.

“Sure,” he says, glancing at Dave and quirking his eyebrows in question. Dave nods agreeably, hand twitching in his under the covers. “Thanks,” he adds, watching Grace head out the room to make their tea. His siblings hover around him awkwardly, all unsure what to say or do, so Klaus swallows and talks again. “Bedrest?”

“Should’ve done it as soon as you got here,” mutters Five, a hint of bitterness in his tone that makes Klaus look away. “But yes. Mom can watch you both easier here and it’s closer to everything if you do have to move. You need the rest. If there’s something you need from upstairs, one of us can get it for you.”

Klaus hums absently, nodding his agreement. It doesn’t feel comfortable or even right to just sit around and do nothing, no matter how exhausted he might feel, although he knows he really ought to. If nothing else, he can always get up and stretch and walk around when the others leave. Maybe he can help Grace cook, some time. (If he does that, he thinks, then maybe he’ll be able to pocket a few things to bring back to their new temporary bedroom.)

“Can we do anything to help, Klaus?” Asks Vanya, startling him slightly with her question. He blinks at her, lips parted, and then shrugs one shoulder.

“I – I’m fine? I – no. It’s okay.”

By the looks on their faces, none of them buy the ‘I’m fine’, but Klaus wasn’t going for deception as much as he was going for deflection, so he doesn’t really care.

Allison scribbles down on her notepad and holds it out. _We’re here for you, you know_, it declares, and in response Klaus stare at her. Well, obviously they care about him, he knows that even if he might have doubted it before and might still doubt it a little bit now, but he doesn’t really know what they want from him, either. He isn’t going to sit down and tell them everything. He is just going to – move on. That’s what he’s supposed to do, and he supposes he’s been doing a pretty shit job at that, but he isn’t sure what else he is supposed to do, nor does he know what his siblings could possibly do other than take his word for it when he says that he is fine.

Grace returns with tea and he and Dave sip it as if it might sate their hunger, and Klaus insists he is fine when they begin to disperse again – urges them to, tells them he wants to sleep. Soon enough, it just he and Dave again in the room, leaving the rest of the tea to go cold on the table pulled beside their bed. The bed they are on is small enough that they have to be pressed against one another, but even with the both of them on it there is still spare room on it, enough they could stretch out a bit, though Klaus likes the close proximity. Their bunk was extremely overcrowded and he’s grown used to that. He hardly notices the extra space; settles comfortably next to Dave, rests his head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Klaus asks, voice quiet.

“I didn’t get hurt,” says Dave.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Dave frowns at him. He glances away and then back; runs a hand down his arm. “You’re back.”

Klaus takes a moment to think about the statement. Dave has seen him literally dead multiple times now, and he wonders how heavily that may be weighing down on him. More than he has previously let on, he supposes, although they were much more preoccupied previously and had no time nor energy to think about or process it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have to keep – keep seeing that.”

Dave tilts his head down to blink at him. “It’s not your fault,” says Dave, shifting. “And it’s not as if we haven’t seen death before.”

Klaus doesn’t respond to that, because he knows that is true, but that doesn’t mean it should be okay. He runs his hand down Dave’s arm and squeezes it, not sure of what to actually say, so settles on physical comfort. Dave exhales a small sigh and lets his eyes flutter closed.

He is about to say something when the door opens. He glances up and watches Grace wander in. She greets him, as always, with a smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “Dinner will still be a little while, I’m sorry to say. But, I was talking to Diego and I’m afraid there seems to be lice in the Academy. I’m stripping the beds and throwing all the clothes into the wash, and I can set a bath up for the two of you before dinner.”

Klaus’ cheeks flush in embarrassment and he glances down at his lap. He knows he should’ve mentioned it earlier, but he had been pretty preoccupied in his own head. When he glances at Dave, his cheeks are also tinged pink.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, we can. Sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t apologise, dear,” says Grace, squeezing his arm. I’ll run the bath in the bathroom next door and set out some shampoo and body wash to use, go in when you’re ready and I’ll bring a new set of clothes for you both. You’ll have to use one of the other beds for tonight, I’m afraid.” Her head bobs to the row of beds against the wall. “But we can pull it out if you’d like.”

“That’s fine, Mom,” says Klaus, sitting up and shuffling to the end of the bed. As he stands up, Dave’s hands steady him, and then Klaus turns and helps him up onto his feet too. They follow Grace to the bathroom and watch as she starts it up and then sets out some shampoo and body wash for them to use.

“Just leave your clothes to the side and I’ll get them,” she says, and she offers a gentle squeeze to both of their shoulders before leaving them alone, door slightly ajar.

“Should we have said about it before?” Dave asks, stripping and folding his clothes.

“Forgot not everyone has them,” Klaus says, half-jokingly, and almost trips as he pulls off his own clothes. Dave snorts and they both watch the bath fill quietly, just watching steam curl into the air from it, watch water gush out of the tap. Even though Dave’s already had baths here, he still watches with something similar to awe. Klaus finds himself doing it too.

He knew they probably should have mentioned the lice earlier, before they went and infested the entire Academy. He can only imagine Allison’s horror at having lice. It simply didn’t seem like a big deal to him. He can’t remember when he first got them, but he knows they never left since that time, even with all the shaving. It was impossible to get rid of them when he slept near hundreds of other people who all had them as well, and then the fact that there was thousands of other people in the same situation. He’d gotten used to them, forgot the problem they actually were beyond the relentless itching and discomfort.

“Does the shampoo work?” Dave asks, picking up one of the bottles to turn it in his hands. Klaus tests the water in the tub and turns the cold tap on for a while. Finally full, though, he turns both taps off.

“Should do,” he says, tilting his head towards. He raises a hand to run over his own head and frowns. “I mean, there’s… probably a razor around here, but I… I don’t want to shave my head.”

“Nor do I,” mumbles Dave, staring into the tub that neither of them have gotten in yet. Klaus clears his throat and waves his hand.

“We’ll do the shampoo and stuff first,” he decides, holding onto the tub and stepping in. “If we need to, we can shave each other later. Not the heads, though. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, right,” agrees Dave, taking Klaus’ hands and stepping into the bath. They settle down together, knocking their legs together, and after a few moments of enjoying the warmth, Klaus reaches out, grabs one of the bottles, and begins to help Dave with it.

It is soothing, to just sit in the peace and quiet of the bathroom, hands running gently over Dave, cupping water and washing his shoulders. Dave shudders as he does so, head dipped low a little. He leans forwards, can’t help himself as he nudges Dave’s neck and ghosts his lips over it. Dave leans back against his chest, reaches back to find one of his hands to squeeze it.

Dave tilts his head back a little, turning it so their lips ghosts one another, and Klaus closes the space carefully. When they part, Dave offers him a little smile.

“Turn around,” he says. “Your turn.”

Klaus offers a smile in return and does so, handing over the bottles to Dave. Just as he does, the door creaks open a little. Grace’s arms appear in the gap, setting down a pile of new clothes on the floor.

“I’ve left your clothes by the door, dears,” she announces.

“Thanks, Mom,” Klaus returns, loud enough for her to hear. With that, the door closes a little more again and Klaus sinks into the water and into Dave’s hands as they run over him. When he works his way up to his head, his fingers trace the scar on the back of it.

“You never did tell me how you got this,” he states, breath tickling his ear. Klaus can’t help but shudder as he runs his fingers over it.

“Wasn’t that important,” he shrugs.

“Looks nasty.”

Klaus sighs, tipping his head back into his touch. “Was in the mines,” he says. “Got in the way, I guess. They hit my head, or I hit it on something, and-“ He waves a hand in the air, water dripping off his fingers. “Next thing I know, my skull’s split open. Actually, next thing I know, I’m in the back of a truck.”

Dave pauses, fingers freezing. “You died again?”

Klaus pauses. He reaches back, takes his hand and brings it around to his front so that he can watch his thumb run over his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Dave sighs shakily, squeezing his hand. “_I’m_ sorry,” he says. After another squeeze, Dave takes his hand back and continues to help wash him, and Klaus lets himself sink back into the touch once more. It was relaxing, doing this to Dave, but it is equally as soothing to be on the other end and to let Dave take care of him a little.

Finally, though, it comes to an end, and they clamber out of the tub and into their new clothes, and Klaus hopes that this is the last he sees of the lice. He’d like to never have to deal with any of that ever again.

“Let’s go see if dinner’s done,” he utters, resting a hand on Dave’s arm, squeezing it gently and then leading the way to the door.

He does not feel as consistently hungry as he did before, of course, nor does the hunger feel so deep and devouring in himself, but it has settled at a constant level of unrestful nagging that is almost insatiable, leaving him almost more desperate than before because now he has gotten a taste of having more. His stomach demands more, disrupted from the usual amount it had gotten used to, and it jars him. He doesn’t prefer it over what it was before, he very much does not think anything can get worse than the complete and utter starvation that encompassed everything, rather than just most things.

It was horrifically hard to get used to, when his stomach would growl consistently for days and he would have painful cramps that he simply had to plough through because he simply couldn’t stop to hold himself and wait it out. It was hard, at first, when he would almost hallucinate having more food than he actually did only to be sorely shocked in the end. And then it simply never stopped, and never got better, and he was willing to do anything for a single crumb more. And now, even after he does manage to eat enough to make him feel full, or near enough, he knows he would still eat more. He’d never know when he’d get that much food again and he wouldn’t let that opportunity slip through his fingers.

The smell in the kitchen is strong enough to make his mouth water the moment he smells it, and makes him dizzy the closer he gets. He doesn’t doubt Dave feels the same, and they lean against one another as they hesitantly enter the kitchen. Sure enough, everyone else is there, sitting in their seats.

He and Dave sit next to one another, and their meals are different and smaller compared to his siblings, and he knows it is because he would probably be sick if he ate what they had. Still, as he and Dave eat, he can’t help but let his eyes stray over everyone else’s meals, and he can’t help the way he holds his own a bit closer to himself.

He’d seen fights break out over food. The majority of the fights that broke out were always over food. If you weren’t looking, anyone and everyone would take the opportunity to steal your food or your bowl or try and knock you out for it. The defensiveness doesn’t just leave now.

He eats, still, faster than he probably should, if the looks he receives are anything to go by. Not that he cares. He finishes it, and makes sure he has completely finished his meal, and then he sits and stares for a little while longer at the bowl, and he licks the taste off his lips, and then he glances again around his siblings who are nearly half-done with their own food.

He wonders, mind not focused immediately on food anymore, what the siblings think about the lice. They probably think he’s dirty. As dirty as he was when he first came back, covered in mud and soaked with snow and virtually crawling with lice; too dirty to work a proper bathroom or be allowed near one.

The bathroom was, truly, horrible. Klaus got used to it soon enough, because he had to, but it was bad enough that no real soldier would step inside. Not that that made it a whole lot safer. It was unhygienic, riddled with disease, they still got beat inside it, and overall it was completely dirty. No matter how much he might have tried to keep himself clean, he was never _really_ clean again. He just had a bath and he can still imagine all the grime on himself.

He has the sudden urge to take another bath. Or clean the bath. He isn’t entirely sure.

With a sigh, he rises to his feet, Dave following with him, and he has to remember not to take the bowl with him as they go.

He is almost eager to leave the kitchen and get away from his siblings, feeling uncomfortable and insecure, and he just wants to be alone with Dave. Returning to the infirmary, they pick a different bed for the meantime, settling down onto it together. He wishes the door was closed. He isn’t going to close it.

He wraps one arm around Dave’s torso, hugging him close and propping his chin up on his shoulder. Dave, after a moment in which he eyes the open door, returns the embrace, and Klaus just lets himself enjoy the proximity.

Dave is the only good thing he has had in a long time, now, and when he feels uncertain as he does, he revels in being able to have him here. Especially when here is in a bed, in soft clothes, in a warm building. He revels in being able to touch and hold him like he is now, and revels in the way Dave’s eyes flutter shut and he leans against him, and how it feels like just them and how he could stay in that feeling forever.

Klaus’ grip tightens on Dave a little, though he doesn’t complain a bit. Dave’s hand runs down his arm, coming to rest on his tattooed forearm, covering and smothering it, and then it settles on his leg and his thumb draws circles on his thigh and Klaus wishes the door was closed, but whether or not it is open or closed, it still feels as if it is only just the two of them and Klaus will revel in the moment as long as it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two babies being babies and getting some cuddles


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if chapters are a little shorter or there’s more errors, my laptop is being fixed and so I am painstakingly tapping this out on a touch-screen

Klaus realises it after two days.

There is a schedule. They have breakfast at eight in the morning, which is somewhat irritating when he wakes up at four and can’t fall back to sleep. Lunch is at half twelve. Dinner is at six.

He doesn’t mind that part so much. It’s convenient for everyone, he supposes. What he doesn’t like, however, is the times in between. It is as if whenever he goes near or in the kitchen, someone is always there or hurrying over to be there as well. It’s a coincidence, at first, until he sees the guilty expression on Ben’s face when he complains to him at night, implying that it is not, in fact, a simple coincidence.

He doesn’t mind the schedule, at first, because he understands that it is convenient and honestly, he simply doesn’t think much about it. Not until he realises that it stops him from eating outside of it, and that it is strict. He’s grateful to get food – real food – three times a day, and maybe he is acting a bit entitled when he is frustrated, but he can’t help it.

Klaus is – kind of hungry. It is a weird feeling. Because he is kind of hungry, and largely because he can, he slips out of bed beside Dave who is asleep, and he makes his way to the kitchen quietly. He can’t help but be slightly self-conscious when eating in front of the others. He knows he has picked up habits with how he eats, because he had to. He eats as if someone is going to take his food away, and he angles his body away from everyone else and places his arm as a barrier between his dish and everyone else, and Dave does the exact same beside him. And the idea of having an open kitchen, free for him to take whatever he wants whenever he wants, is dizzying, and he wants to take advantage of it before the chance is ripped away from him, although it seems that is what is happening.

Even if he isn’t that hungry, he can’t help the urge to go and get more food, because he simply can.

There is a line, Klaus knows, because there has to be, but he can’t help the way he keeps wanting to push it and see where his luck will run out. He wants to linger in the kitchen and look around at things he isn’t allowed to; he wants to touch and take things; he wants to stay up and wander after curfew; he wants to fight and yell and get his own way; he wants to see how much he can actually do before he finds out what the first punishment is. Although admittedly he won’t actually do most of this, and pushing the line is a very slow process, but to him each second spent loitering where he shouldn’t be feels like an entire rebellion and thrills him as much as it scares him.

So again he makes his way to the kitchen and is thrilled to see that it is empty, and no one seems to have noticed him inside it, besides Ben. He hovers for a while, looking around, enjoying being there, and then wanders over to the refrigerator and the cabinets.

“Dinner won’t be long,” comments Ben, but Klaus knows, now, that his nonchalance is fake and he is in on trying to dissuade him from eating. He isn’t entirely sure why this is happening, honestly – he would have thought he would be encouraged to eat as much as he could and whenever he wanted to, but apparently not. “Maybe we can wait ‘till then? Or you can ask Mom and she would come and sort something for you, you know. You never were the best cook.”

Klaus hums at his brother’s attempt at a joke. “I’m not going to cook,” he says. Cooking would take too long, be too cumbersome, and draw too much attention to himself. He isn’t going to do that. He hesitates, then opens a cupboard and looks through it, ears strained to listen for anyone coming. If there’s something his siblings are watching closer than his trips to the kitchen, it is his attempts to go upstairs. He hasn’t actually done so in the past couple of days, because he has never gotten up further than the second one before someone comes along, guides him back to the infirmary and gets whatever it is he wanted for him. He doesn’t actually want what he says from upstairs – the jumpers and the socks and the underwear, but he isn’t going to tell him about the still-hidden food which is what he actually wants to get.

He doubts he will be able to go upstairs and get any of it for a while, so he needs to bring some into the infirmary. Just in case.

There is a packet of chips he sees, and he reaches out and – footsteps.

He stands upright lightning-fast, closes the cupboard, and turns to watch Diego walk inside.

“Hey, Klaus,” says his brother. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replies quickly, then frowns and purses his lips. “I’m hungry.”

Diego looks down, toys with his bottom lip and nods. “Dinner won’t be too long,” he states, repeating what Ben said. Klaus stares at him long enough for Diego to grimace and look away. He wants to ask why they are doing this. Diego doesn’t look as if he is happy to tell Klaus no, so why is he? It’s not fair, he thinks.

Klaus does not like them doing this. He doesn’t know why they are restricting him, and it frustrates him and maybe scares him a little. If they’ll do this, then what next?

Klaus swallows. Voice quiet, he asks, “can I have some tea?”

Too pleasantly, Diego chirps, “yeah, yeah. I’ll do that for you.”

He steps aside, watches Diego busy himself doing that, back to Klaus.

He doesn’t know what they are doing, nor does he like it. He’s afraid than the next thing he knows is that there will be a dog guarding the kitchen and snapping at him whenever he comes near it, or that he will wake up to a gong, or that lunch will disappear and breakfast will get smaller and dinner more watery and that he’ll be yelled at for wanting more.

For now, though, Diego’s back is to Klaus and Klaus has nimble fingers and there is a bowl of fruit on the side.

Diego turns back, holding two cups of tea for both he and Dave. “All set?” He asks, nodding to the door.

Arms positioned just so to not let the fruit fall from underneath his jumper, Klaus tries to smile. It feels fake and heavy on his face. “Sure,” he says, and follows Diego back to the infirmary.

He settles back next to Dave and Diego sets the tea on the nearby table. “Try and get some rest, bro,” he says softly. “Mom’ll get you when it’s dinner.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Diego swallows. “Yeah,” he utters, lingering and staring back at him, and then he leaves. Klaus watches him go and as soon as he is out of sight, he relaxes and pulls the apple and banana that he grabbed from under his jumper. He eyes the both of them, lips pressed together. He knows dinner will not be long, and he knows he will get food then. Although he wants to eat both immediately, perhaps it would be better to save them for when he actually needs them. Dave, too. He needs to be smart about this, although he isn’t used to saving food or being able to hide it.

He looks around the room until he finds a place to hide the both of them, doing so quickly, opening a cabinet full of hardly-touched medical supplies and hiding them in the back corner, and then he closes it again and hurries back to Dave’s side.

Dave has been more tired than usual, lately. Not that Klaus doesn’t understand that – he has been, too, even despite nightmares and such. They both have months of fatigue catching up on them, especially now that they aren’t running on pure fear and adrenaline and they can actually take a moment to rest and relax. He settles comfortably beside Dave and runs his fingertips along the side of his face, then along his head. He fixes the blanket over him and sinks a little lower, cuddling closer to him and just watching him contently. He stays like that until Grace finally comes in to get them for dinner and he shakes Dave awake gently.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Dinner’s ready. You can sleep again after.”

Dave looks around himself groggily, eyebrows furrowed, but he nods after a moment and holds Klaus’ arm as he slides off the bed and onto his feet. Klaus turns, reaches for Dave’s hands to hold as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands.

His knees buckle, and Klaus lunges to wrap his arms around him and catch him as he dips, steadying him. “Dave?” He asks, concern spiking in him. His grip doesn’t loosen even when Dave does get his feet underneath himself. “Dave, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Just – stood up too fast,” Dave murmurs, squeezing his arm. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Klaus asks, frowning. “We can sit back down, are you sure?”

Dave nods, giving his arm another gentle squeeze. “I’m fine,” he insists. “Let’s go.”

Klaus stares at him for several moments, frowning, but he relents. He doesn’t let go of him, though, continuing to support him as they approach the kitchen. He is reluctant to let go of him even to sit down but settles on shuffling his chair closer to his.

He eats as quickly as he always does, wolfing it down until there’s nothing left and his stomach is almost uncomfortably full, unused to all of the food he has been having recently. If offered more, he’s sure he would still take it nonetheless. He knows he would because he eyes his siblings’ meals afterwards.

They still throw the occasional (frequent) glance at him. He doesn’t like the scrutiny. He wonders what they are thinking; what they were thinking when they set up the schedule and what they might be thinking of adding onto the list of rules.

He can perhaps deal with most of them and work around them. He can find moments in which he can steal some food if he needs to. He can do whatever he has to as long as it keeps him and Dave safe, though primarily Dave.

He turns his gaze to Dave now, watching him finish off his own food. He still looks tired. Beneath the table he reaches a hand out to rest it on his knee. Dave’s head lifts in his direction and Klaus gives him a subtle look, imitating a small smile, and Dave returns it and rests his hand over his.

He has Dave, and so long as he has Dave then he knows he will come out of everything alright or he will keep persevering until he does. 

He lets his eyes roam over his siblings once more, lets his eyes run over the plates of steaming food in front of them, and then he rises to his feet. Dave follows after him and side by side they leave the kitchen, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“Want to sit outside for a bit?” Klaus asks, hand brushing Dave’s. Tired blue eyes stare back at him and one of his shoulders shrug.

“Air’d be nice,” he comments, bobbing his head in a gentle nod. With a soft smile, Klaus leads the way out into the courtyard, and they settle down together on one of the benches. Klaus tilts his head up at the darkening grey sky and lets his eyes flutter closed. Dave’s fingers brush his and his shoulder bumps his and a breeze ruffles his hair. He can’t quite tell if he finds the distant white noise of the city around him relaxing or not. It is an old familiar thing which comforts him, but he doesn’t like the odd yelling or the car horns being honked, and sometimes the incoherent babble of people walking and talking is just too reminiscent of the droning background noise of an overcrowded camp.

Right now, though, Klaus relaxes with it and it is nice to focus on something pointless and incoherent and meaningless. 

Dave leans a little more into him and so Klaus leans back. Dave’s fingers curl around his and in return Klaus manoeuvres their hands to slot their fingers together. 

“What do you think will happen in a year?” Asks Dave. Klaus hums, tilting his head back down from the sky. 

“What do you mean?”

Dave shrugs. “What do you think we’ll be doing in a year?”

Klaus has never given much thought to the future. It was only ever the Academy, and then it was only ever drugs, and then it was only death. Now - now he isn’t so sure. 

The ghosts are hazy things still, flickering around in the corner of his eyes and muttering, though as he regains some more strength again, so do they. They jump up on the backs of his eyelids and they scream just as he wakes up, and then they retreat until he is more vulnerable to their torment again. He isn’t sure how long it will take until they are back to their prominent, loud selves. 

In that case, he supposes he would just end up going back to the drugs, because he has mo idea how else he is supposed to deal with them.

However, he manifested Ben. Perhaps… perhaps there is an alternative option to getting rid of the ghosts rather than drugs. He doesn’t think he is anywhere near strong enough to risk messing with his powers, but maybe eventually. 

Supposing he could get rid of the ghosts and remain sober… well, that has never been an option before, so he has never thought about it. Never considered a real life. He can only truly think of one thing.

“What do you want to do?” He asks in return, nudging Dave’s shoulder. 

Dave hums in thought. “They, uh - my bookstore, you know. I couldn’t run it anymore. Maybe… I could have another one.”

Klaus tips his head to the side, lips pursed. “That’d be nice,” he agrees, squeezing his hand, and Dave smiles at him slightly. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It would be.”

Klaus hums and nudges his shoulder. Dave nudges him back, wearing a fond expression, and Klaus lets the small smile on his face grow out a little more. “A cute little bookstore,” he states, slumping against Dave’s side. “Hell yeah.” 

Dave snorts a little, presses back into him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go inside.”

“Aye, aye,” Klaus quips, rising up onto his feet and wandering his way back into the infirmary. It is quiet there, to his pleasure, and he never tires of being able to clamber onto a soft bed and tangle himself up next to Dave.

He finds comfort in being close to him, and he feels a little thrill of intimacy every time he can hold his hand or run his fingertips over his cheek. He cherishes being able to see and touch Dave the way that he can. There is a part of him, however, that fiercely dreads being separated from him. It makes his hands sweat and heart pound and mouth dry, even if it is he who is leaving while Dave is asleep to go to the kitchen or bathroom. 

He and Dave couldn’t spend every day together, in the camp, let alone near one another; often split and working in different places, and even if they weren’t, they were still working and couldn’t pay much attention to one another beyond a brief glance in passing. Sometimes Klaus would not see him all day and any day could have been his last, and Klaus would only ever find out because he didn't come back at night. Out of his sight, he could have died and Klaus would have been none the wiser. So Klaus simply dos not want to let him out of his sight for long, or at all. 

He tries not to think about it, especially not now when he knows he is okay and that he isn’t being worked to death whenever Klaus hasn’t got his eye on him. Especially not now, when Dave’s hip presses against his and his arm winds around his torso and holds him against his side. He melts against Dave and shoos the other thoughts from his mind, focusing on solely this moment. 

“Have you ever written your own book?” Klaus asks curiously. “Could put it in the nee store.”

Dave snorts, chest bouncing briefly. “No, never have,” he says with a small shake of his head. “Dunno what I’d write about.”

“Me,” Klaus suggests with a sly smile, though he can’t help but grin when he sees Dave smile. He wears it well. He wants to keep him smiling like that; it brightens his eyes.

“Hmm,” says Dave, head dipping to the side as his eyes flick over him. “A novel then?”

Klaus coos gently. “A whole novel?”

“Of course.” Dave squeezes his hand and runs his thumb over his knuckles. 

“Would you read it to me?”

Dave snorts. “Sure,” he says, and Klaus grins and nudges his elbow. 

“Lovely,” he says. “I look forwards to that.”

“Yeah, well, so do I,” agrees Dave. His knees knock against his under the blanket as he shuffles into a more comfortable position, tugging Klaus down a little more with him. He isn’t sure he could fall asleep at the moment, not so quickly anyway, but he is more than content to lay there with Dave, tangled up in a mess of limbs, ankles knocking against ankles and getting twisted in the blankets, listening to the even rhythm of his breathing. 

Dave blinks at him. Klaus tries to imagine the face he saw in the bookstore first, comparing it to the Dave staring at him now, with the same piercing blue eyes that see him better than anyone else can.

His fingertips ghost along his cheekbone, dancing underneath his eye, and his lip twitches upwards when Dave’s hand comes up to cover his. 

He fears, sometimes, that he might be too touchy or clingy with Dave. That it might scare him away, or make him uncomfortable, or might be making him feel worse. It’s most definitely not his intention and if her were to ask him to stop, then he would, but Klaus is clingy and touchy and he would like to imagine it helps Dave as it helps him.

Dave squeezes his hand and moves it away from his face, holding it between their chests, and he sits up a little to close the small gap between them. He tilts his head up to meet him in a kiss, soft and careful, as if either of them might recoil or crumble apart if it’s too much. 

Klaus isn’t sure Dave could ever do something that might deter Klaus from him in any way in the slightest, but he is happy to take whatever Dave is happy to give, and something this gentle and caring makes Klaus feel lighter and happier and safer than he has for a while. 

He sighs contently, sinking into the mattress and keeping his eyes closed when Dave’s fingers run along his cheek, behind his ear. 

He had expected to be in Dave’s place, idly soothing him to sleep and being content to simply lay beside him for however long it might take himself to fall asleep eventually, but Dave takes that role tonight. The gentle touches chase away tension and anxiety from his muscles and push away encroaching bad thoughts. Lulled into a sense of security with Dave by his side, watching over him even if there aren’t any real threats around, Klaus lets himself fall asleep easier than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started this chapter with the intention of making it sad. Ended up with more cuddles. It’s what they deserve


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for errors and typos, writing on a touch screen will be the death of me

_ It has been a little over a month since they arrived. _

_ It is surprising how much one can change in a single month. Surprising how much one’s spirit can be beaten down and how much one’s body can deteriorate and how much one’s behaviour can change, too. Innate behaviour and quirks that seemed a part of him have changed or gone and he has picked up new ones in their place, more important ones, safer ones, cautious ones. _

_ Not that anything he does is able to make him truly ‘safe’, but he can try. He just tries to draw as little attention to himself as possible, but existing in itself is too big a nuisance and he can’t eliminate all the risks that come with simply existing here. _

_ So, he simply tries to keep his head down, tries not to get in the way, tries not to be too good or too bad, too fast or too slow. _

_ That is only in terms of the guards and his behaviour. It doesn’t help that he feels so utterly spent and exhausted every day, and that his body is in pain every day, amd it makes every that much harder. _

_ There are the poor conditions of everything. Of the barracks, of the washrooms, of the camp, of every place they work. It is as if every single thing is just designed to hurt them and wring them dry, and he supposes it truly is. _

_ The heat doesn’t help things either. The camp, especially the overcrowded barracks and the filthy washrooms, is just a breeding ground for disease. _

_ Klaus is better off than a lot of people here, having only been here a month and although that month has beaten him hard, he isn’t so sickly looking as the others. He still has some colour to his skin, still some meat on his bones. He doesn’t doubt another month will see him like the skeletons around him, but for now he just looks sick rather than dying. It’s not enough to keep him safe, though. _

_ People get ill in the summer. The heat is sweltering and suffocating and makes everything so much worse. There has been a steadily growing wave of illness around the entire camp and in his own barrack. Each night he falls asleep to the sound of people moaning in discomfort and pain (more so than usual) and to people being sick and every night it just gets worse. Klaus is surprised that he hasn’t caught whatever it is that’s going around everyone, although he would be willing to bet that it isn’t just one illness. He doesn’t hold much help for himself however. He might not be as ill as others, but he has the beginning of a cough and he can’t tell if the body ache he has is new or what he is used to. _

_ Plus, Dave hasn’t been looking that good either. His cough is worse than Klaus’ and he complains about stomach pain and writhes until he falls asleep. Now, he stares down at his bowl of soup with a heavy gaze, frowning, and then he looks up and nudges Klaus gently. Klaus takes a moment to ensure his own bowl is completely empty before looking to Dave, eyebrows raised. _

_ Dave gives a glance around them, eying everyone, then he shuffles closer to Klaus and holds his bowl out. “Here,” he says. “Have this.” _

_ Klaus’ eyebrows raise further and he copies the way Dave looked around to make sure no one else is watching or listening, for he knows they would leap to steal Dave’s food. _

_ “What?” He asks lowly , leaning closer. “Dave, you need to eat.” _

_ Dave shakes his head. His arm shakes as he holds the bowl out to him. “Not hungry,” he claims, and Klaus stares incredulously at him. He must look so dumbfounded that Dave keeps on speaking, trying to explain himself. “I know, I know, but I just don’t. It’s probably whatever is going around.” _

_ Klaus blinks , then pushes Dave’s hand and bowl back to himself. “Then that’s exactly why you meed to eat, Dave,” he insists. “Dave, you need to-“ _

_ “I’ll throw up, Klaus,” Dave says, voice a little snappy. “You eat it instead.” _

_ For a long moment, they simply stare at one another. Klaus knows he needs to eat , especially if he is sick, but he can’t make Dave do anything. And if Klaus doesn’t eat it, he knows it is going to go to waste or someone else would have it, and Klaus is hungry. _

_ Setting his bowl on his lap, he reaches out and takes Dave’s. _

_ Klaus feels the beginning of illness as it settles in over the next few days, and it scares him. He is already exhausted and in pain, but being ill makes it worse. It is hard to do work and he can’t risk not doing work. He can’t imagine how he is going to be able to cope if - when - it gets worse. Because he knows it will get worse. Because it has gotten worse for everyone. It has gotten worse for Dave. _

_ Klaus has to force him to eat even though he doesn’t feel much like eating himself, even if he knows the both of them are just going to throw it all back up, but he has to because Dave can’t force himself. Klaus only hopes that by the time he is as sick as Dave, Dave begins to recover and return the favour for Klaus. For now, though, Klaus will help Dave eat and he will eat his own food and he will push through it and make sure Dave gets up for roll call and stays standing and, if he can, he will try his hardest to keep an eye on him when they work. _

_ It gets worse before it gets better, though. Klaus is sure it isn’t simply one thing going through the camp but rather multiple infections, and it wrecks people. Dave caught it all first and Klaus has to watch him battle it out until he is almost certain he is going to wake up one day next to a corpse. They lay at night and Dave breathes heavily through his discomfort, face pinched tight. Klaus turns around to face him, taking in the way his face his thinned out since they arrived, the way he clenches his jaw and the way his nostrils flare with each heavy exhale. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips over his jaw and watches Dave startle, snapping his eyes open to look at Klaus. _

_ He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He just touches him, and Dave reaches a hand up and covers Klaus’. His eyes are glossy and bloodshot and he stares at Klaus as if he isn’t entirely sure of what is going on. Perhaps, Klaus thinks, it would be better to die like this. At least it wouldn’t be so painful or scary. _

_ The idea of being here all alone, however, even if Dave isn’t someone he has known for long or particularly knows well, is terrifying. Dave has helped him immensely since getting here, especially considering he hardly knows German and Dave has been teaching him what he needs to know to survive, and Dave has given him some motivation to keep going. _

_ He truly fears that this is what is going to be what kills Dave, and he can’t do anything to help, and he isn’t even sure if what he does do does help at all or if it even makes him worse. _

_ Should he drag Dave off to the washroom to try and keep him clean, only to risk exhausting him, getting him hurt or beaten or miss a meal, or contract something else from the filthy conditions and dirty water? Or should he keep him away from them because of the danger they pose and risk losing whatever benefits trying to stay clean might offer? _

_ Not that it matters too much, because eventually he gets too ill to be bothered to care about walking all the way to the washroom every day more than is necessary. He tries his best to push through it and still take care of Dave, especially when he begins to finally recover and Klaus wants to ensure he does, but it is tremendously difficult. Both are half delirious from hunger and dehydration and exhaustion and it takes everything in him to get up in the morning, and it mostly comes from convincing himself that Dave needs his help. It might not be so true when Dave begins to recover a bit and Klaus is lagging behind still, and in moments he notices Dave tugging him one way or the other or coaxing him to eat rather than Klaus doing it for him. _

_ It is a bit of a blur, really. Everyone is sick and then Dave is sick and Klaus tries to look after him and then Klaus is sick and Dave tries to look after him and then they aren’t sick and are somehow still alive and Klaus is tired and afraid and terribly homesick and he misses Ben and Dave slowly begins to blur into the crowd of skeletons and walking corpses around them and Klaus realises that so is he. _

_ He watches the way Dave skims death and dodges it with too-close calls, and somehow they are still alive months later and they don’t look it, and he can’t do anything to really help him. He just watches him get worse and joins him and tries to hope that if he dies, it is quick and as painless as it can be. _

  
  


Klaus notices it when he stops eating. 

He may be a little more attentive to that, but it was one of, if mot the biggest red flag for anyone feeling poorly, and therefore not going to last much longer, in the camp. So when Dave stares down at his half-eaten lunch and then doesn’t touch it anymore, Klaus eyes him carefully.

He has been tired more often the past few days. Grace has said they probably. would, since they are now settling down and resting and eating more, and Klaus has also felt this, but even if he was feeling full he isn’t sure he would be able to not finish a meal or turn one down. 

He nudges Dave’s knee beneath the table and gives him a curious look, raising his eyebrows. Dave stares back tiredly and shrugs his shoulders in response. 

“Tired?” He asks, frowning. Dave eyes the table in front of himself for a moment before he nods. Klaus presses his lips together, eying his own food, and then he nods and stands up, coaxing Dave onto his feet.

“Are you okay?” Asks Diego, watching the both of them. 

“We’re going to lay down,” states Klaus, hand on Dave’s back. He pauses, toying with his lower lip. “Is that - is that okay?” 

His siblings blink at him, then exchange glances. “Yeah,” says Diego, quiet. “Of course. Mom’ll come check on you later, yeah?”

Klaus nods his acknowledgement and then he and Dave turn and make their way back to the infirmary.

“Not hungry?” Klaus asks, voice a little distant and gaze looking straight ahead. 

“Yeah,” murmurs Dave, nodding. He leans a little into him as they walk and Klaus slides an arm around his waist. 

“Do you feel sick?” He looks Dave up and down, but he just looks extremely tired. His fingers brush against his skin and he feels a little warmer than he perhaps should, but he hasn’t been coughing, hasn’t been sick or in any pain that isn’t lingering aches from their beaten bodies slowly healing.

“Just tired,” mutters Dave, waving one hand vaguely. Klaus hums sceptically, not quite content with the answer, but he doesn’t push. He simply walks over to their bed with Dave and is aware of how Dave holds onto his arm when he lowers himself onto the bed. 

“Take it easy,” Klaus murmurs, watching Dave sink back into the mattress and close his eyes. “Do you need anything? A drink? We can, uh, take a bath, and relax, or… not?”

Dave hums, cracking his eyes open. “It’s fine,” he says. “I just think I’ll… sleep.”

Klaus nods, lingering by the side of the bed before clambering onto it as well, settling in next to him. Dave watches him do so and they manoeuvre into a better position that ends up with Dave’s head on his chest. Running his hand down his arm, Klaus watches as Dave falls asleep quickly.

“You can ask Mom to look over him when she comes,” Ben offers, sitting into one of the chairs near their bed. 

“Yeah,” murmurs Klaus, bobbing his head in a nod. “I will.”

“Are you okay?” 

Klaus watches his own fingers run along Dave’s forearm, watches Dave’s chest rise and fall with slow breaths.

“I’m not sick,” he states, and pauses, staring at Dave. He can’t tell whether or not Dave is sick or truly just tired, although refusing food is a glaring red flag to him. He ought to bring it up to Grace, who checks on them multiple times a day, makes sure they are perfectly fine and recovering as well as they can.

But, well, he doesn’t _ know _ if Dave is sick. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping as soundly as he says he is. Maybe that’s it. Klaus doesn’t want to be a nuisance, and when he thinks about treatment and doctors and hospitals, he thinks about being stripped naked and laughed at and prodded and no real treatment. 

He runs his hand over Dave’s cheek gently, cradling his head to his chest. He wants Dave to be okay, of course he does; he feels sick at the slightest idea or implication that Dave might not be okay, that he might be hurt or sick, that his health might be in danger. But he is afraid, still, that he might only do him worse.

“Klaus?”

Bem’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up at his brother, staring at him with a raised eyebrow and concerned expression. 

“What?” He asks, frowning. Ben copies the expression.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses, shaking his head and turning his attention back down to Dave. He’s sure he will be fine after he gets some rest, though maybe it might take a few days. They can take it easy. If Dave wants to sleep, Klaus will let him sleep, although he can’t help but find himself filled with nervous energy that he needs to get rid of, and then he finds himself frustrated because he knows his siblings would stop him from doing just about anything.

He has not confronted them about the fact that he knows they have set up a meal schedule for him and Dave. He finds himself too nervous still to confront anyone, but he is no less frustrated by it and he feels suffocated by it. No one has spoken about it to him and he doesn’t understand why they are keeping this a secret from him. 

Over the past couple days, much to Ben’s displeasure, he has managed to add a little more to his hidden stash of food in the infirmary. Mostly raiding the kitchen at night or early in the morning when everyone else is asleep, he takes things that shouldn’t be noticed missing, and so far they haven’t. 

It is still an odd thing to do, to save food rather than eating it immediately, the opposite of what he would do in the camp. He would rather just eat it all as soon as his hands land on the food, but he knows he is saving it all for an emergency. 

Ben tells him that the food will go bad - he doesn’t take the canned food, largely because he forgets that he can, is used to food that is ready to be eaten - and tells Klaus he needs to tell anyone about the food in the wardrobe upstairs, and Klaus doesn’t tell him that it doesn’t matter because it is still edible. 

He thinks Ben might know that without having to be told, though. He thought he heard footsteps last night while in the kitchen, thought he was about to be caught and freaked out. After hiding underneath the table for however long, which he has to admit was a terrible hiding place, he snatched the first edible thing in the trash - it was still perfectly fine, he thought, it shouldn’t have even been thrown out, he knows people would have killed for it and it was just thrown out and it makes him feel sick and makes it harder to breathe - hurried to hide it and then clambered back into the safety of his bed while Ben tried to talk him through another panic attack.

In hindsight, the footsteps he heard were probably from a ghost.

He won’t confront the siblings about the way they are restricting and limiting him, but he can risk working around it. He is still hesitant to reveal that Dave might be sick, afraid of what they might do in response. For now, he simply strokes Dave’s arm and keeps watch over him whilst he sleeps. 

Nonetheless, like always Grace wanders in to come check on them, keeping her voice quiet when she notices Dave still asleep.

“You didn’t finish your lunch, dear - either of you,” she comments, tucking nonexistent hair behind his ear. “Would you like me to bring you a snack?”

“Uh, that would be nice,” Klaus nods, and Grace smiles. 

“Good, good. Now, are you okay if we check your weight? We can to Dave’s when he wakes up; he needs his rest.”

Klaus stares down at him, still asleep against his chest, and he nods after a moment of hesitation and begins to untangle himself carefully, making sure he doesn’t wake up as he does so, and then he follows Grace over to a scale.

He doesn’t look at the number. A mirror tells him all he needs to know. Whether or not he has put on a pound or two since getting back, he knows it is nowhere near enough to make him look any less emaciated. It dismays him to know that it will take him a long time still to look healthy again, and it almost makes him feel an odd mix of shame and terror.

He knows he looks horrible to look at. He had gotten used to the sight, but he realises that his siblings surely can’t help but feel deeply disturbed whenever they look at him. With the shaved head, even if it is slowly growing out, and the bruises, even if they are beginning to fade, and the scars and the sharp corners of his prominent bones. All of a sudden, the plans for living a normal life in the future seem very, very far away from him. 

He steps off the scale when Grace tells him to, after she’s finished cataloguing the number away in her head. “That’s good,” she tells him, even though he never looked at the number and never knew how much he weighed to start with. “Now, go on and sit down, dear, and I’ll be back with some snacks for the both of you.”

She follows him back to the bed, holding his arm as he sits up onto it and then runs her hand down to his, squeezing it. “Get some rest, dear,” she tells him, and then she turns to leave. Before she can, though, Klaus’ grip on her hand tightens and keeps her from leaving, and he isn’t sure why.

She turns to face him again, head tilted to the side. “Yes, bumblebee?” She asks, and the nickname strikes a soft spot in him and he bites his lip. For several moments, he doesn’t say anything, and then he forces himself to let go of her hand.

“Sorry, I - I’m fine,” he mumbles, shaking his head and looking away. Grace stares at him as if trying to decipher what’s wrong with him, and then she comes closer.

“Oh, dear,” she breathes, wrapping an arm around him. Klaus’ muscles tense at the touch, and then he closes his eyes and lets the tension fall away and melts against her, returning the hug tightly.

One of her hands strokes from the top of his head and down his back. Her grip is comfortingly tight, grounding rather than suffocating, and the motherly touch is almost simply too much for him. He tightens his grip on her, fingers digging into her dress, and she just continues to stroke his back gently. She doesn’t try to end the hug or pull away, leaving Klaus to decide when to do that whenever he feels comfortable, and so he isn’t entirely sure how long they spend like that. Simultaneously too long and not long enough. 

Reluctantly, he finally loosens his hold and then begins to inch away from Grace, letting her take a step back although her hands linger on him; one cupping his neck and one on his arm.

“I love you, bumblebee,” she states, smiling gently at him, and Klaus swallows and nods.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I love you too, Mom.”

Grace grins at him, runs her hand over his head as if she is pushing his hair back. “I’ll get you and Dave some snacks,” she announces. “And I’ll brjng you some tea, too.”

Sinking back into the bed, he utters, “thanks.”

Grace squeezes his arm and then leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then she wanders off and leaves him in bed with a still-sleeping Dave. He watches her go. His fingers run down Dave’s arm and he rests his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling and feeling as if there are weights dragging him down.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs :(


	15. Chapter 15

“Mom keeps the infirmary spotless, Klaus. You don’t need to do that.”

Klaus shoots a brief look at Ben before returning his attention to the bed in front of him that he is making. He knows that, but he is restless and anxious and he needs to do something. Making sure that the beds around him are made perfectly is the easiest thing he can do and is hardly physical. Ben can’t get mad at him for doing so when he could be running up and down the stairs instead. 

Which is probably why Ben doesn’t complain so much. He still comments on it but he still allows it and doesn’t insist too much, unless Klaus has been searching for nonexistent dirt for hours. 

It keeps his mind and hands busy as well as sating some of his anxiety, chasing away some fears. If he keeps the place clean, he can’t be punished for the bed being unmade, or for dragging dirt around, or just letting the place get messy in general. It hardly does much on the grand scale of things; there are still a hundred other urges he has that he battles every day, but at least he can do this.

So, he makes sure the beds are made. Last night he stole one of the brooms and managed to sweep the floor and no one has noticed the broom in the corner - they probably think it belongs there. He hates hiding it in plain sight, finds it too risky, but it works, even if he holds his breath whenever someone comes into the infirmary and something he stole is propped up against the wall a few feet away from them.

Cleaning doesn’t please him like he suspects Ben might think. It doesn’t satisfy him, it doesn’t reassure him. It simply ensures that there is one less thing to worry about doing wrong or being confronted about. His siblings haven’t actually said anything about Klaus having to do chores - all they do is insist he rest (and watch him if he goes near the stairs or the kitchen or anywhere too far away and watch him with suspicious looks and whisper about him and who knows what they’re saying or planning or thinking) but he doesn’t want to risk it - he can’t.

He catches Dave doing it, too. Whenever they stand up they both turn simultaneously to tug the blankets into place, tugging the blankets of other beds into place, looking around the place. He still isn’t entirely sure how Dave is coping, if he is as restless and anxious and on edge as Klaus is, although he supposes Dave ought to be more so. At least Klaus knows where they are and who is around them. At least he knows what lays outside. Dave has no idea. The world is completely different, and Klaus almost feels bad for putting him in this situation. 

Klaus still feels utterly exhausted, and he runs on anxiety and tension and fear, but he seizes the moments in which it is only just him and Dave together to try and be better. He lays with Dave between meals, or in the mornings when they wake up hours before anyone else but know they don’t have to get up quite yet, or before they fall asleep at night again. 

It feels wrong, at first, to talk so much and so casually, but he finds that it helps in the end, both himself and Dave. He struggles to come up with good topics for them to talk about, things that aren’t heavy or serious or related to any of their issues, and so often times he just retells dumb stories from when he was young, or he talks about Ben. 

Ben is an easy topic. He feels more comfortable with him, adjusts to his presence again quicker than he does the others, and Ben doesn’t yell, or walk with heavy, loud footsteps, or tower over them; he doesn’t have a bad or intimidating air about him. Plus, Ben doesn’t seem to mind. He has perked up a couple of times, reminding Klaus of old stories, pleasant things he can talk about. 

“He had a photography phase, when we were fifteen,” he tells Dave idly, staring up at the ceiling. “Some ancient camera, he made us pose all the time. Sometimes he went out and took photos of the city.”

Dave hums his acknowledgement and when Klaus looks down, he is watching him as he talks, so he simply keeps talking and hopes that he can keep Dave’s attention for a while; keep it away from all the shadows in their minds, even if only for ten minutes. 

He never pressures Dave to talk back. Dave will talk if he wants to, but Klaus won’t force him to talk about his family. Not when they both know what happened to him. Instead, he simply does one of the things he was good at, once; he distracts.

It starts out purely as distraction, anyway, and perhaps another outlet for his anxious energy, but he finds it does end up actually lifting his mood a little, and he hopes it is the same case for Dave. 

He wishes he could be better at helping Dave, but he truly doesn’t know how to. They eat, and they sleep, and they bathe. He holds his hand and nudges his knee and when Dave wakes up shaking or gasping or crying, he tries to help him through it, but he feels lost for what to do, partly because he isn’t even sure how to help himself. It’s almost comical, in some bitter, not-funny-at-all way. If he isn’t trying to help Dave, then Dave is trying to help him. He wants to help Dave, knows he needs to be strong for him because he isn’t the one who lost his family, he isn’t the one in a completely different place surrounded by strangers; he needs to be strong. But instead he is constantly looking over his shoulder and holding his breath and jerking awake and flinching from touches and sounds, some of which no one else hears. 

He supposes he shouldn’t be so frustrated; he’s always known, and so has everyone else, that he is cowardly and weak. But he is trying, even if his attempts are pretty pathetic. 

Dave is asleep beside him and Klaus isn’t so far behind him. His eyes keep slipping shut and the world recedes, but he always jerks awake at the last moment. His stomach is still oddly full after lunch even if it was hours ago, almost uncomfortably so. It’s an odd sight, too, his stomach oddly bloated while he remains skeletal, and it makes him feel more embarrassed to look in the mirror, but at least his jumper is loose enough on him that no one knows, besides Dave when they bathe. 

His hand runs absentmindedly up and down Dave’s arm, something he was doing to try and soothe him asleep earlier and now his own sleep-muddled mind keeps doing subconsciously. Dave’s breath is warm on his neck and he smells pleasantly clean. As much as Klaus likes no longer having to constantly smell illness and disease and dirt and burning flesh, he had gotten used to it and in being back and not being surrounded by the smell just makes the memories of it more vivid and worse. He thinks about candles a lot. Maybe, maybe he can ask Grace if she can bring a scented one down to try and overpower the lingering smell in his mind that is strong enough to make him nauseous.

For now, though, the bedsheets and their clothes have a faintly citrus smell, and it is odd and almost a bit disorienting, but pleasant. They’ve not had to strip the bed again, he thinks. It thrills him a little to think that the lice might be gone for good. He had grown used to the discomfort they brought but he realises how much of a relief it is to have them gone now; how more comfortable he is thanks to it.

His hand stops on Dave’s arm, falling flat and resting there as sleep creeps up on him again, turning the world into one big blur and muffling any noise around him. His body begins to melt into the mattress, Dave’s hand resting idly on his hip pushing him down, down, down.

Somewhere close, right on the shell of his ear but echoing as if far away, a dog snarls and barks and he jerks, eyes snapping open, world rushing back to him. A sigh tumbles from his lips and he exhales slowly, steadily, and relaxes his muscles again. 

Klaus liked dogs. They were sweet to him on the streets, sweet enough anyway, and sometimes it was nice to sit down and stroke one of the strays he came across. Now he is vividly aware of their teeth and their claws and how easily they can tear flesh and how impossible it is to get out of their grip. 

He never got bitten by a dog himself, but he saw it happen and he’d had them snap at his heels; had their teeth graze his legs too close, only just narrowly dodging their vicious holds. He can’t help but feel the need to run and keep running whenever he sees or hears one. 

He chases away the sound from his mind, however, and tries to fall back into the disorienting, half-asleep state he had been in, hoping to snatch a few minutes of sleep, although he doesn’t have much hope for it being all that restful or satisfying. Nonetheless, he ought to try. It’s what he’s told all the time, anyway.

So he closes his eyes, focuses on Dave’s hand on his hip and his steady breaths, tries to focus on nothing else but that. 

He can’t hear much from the infirmary, anyway. It is close enough to the kitchen and the living room that he doesn’t have to walk far, but just out of the way enough that he can’t hear anyone else unless they are being particularly loud. It helps relax him, but when he does hear footsteps he can’t help but be set immediately on edge.

Dave’s hand twitches on his hip and he can’t help but seek it out with his own. He curls his fingers around his hand and runs his thumb along his palm, feels them twitch again, attempt to flex and then respond to the touch. Dave shifts, stretching and squirming, and Klaus watches him blink his eyes open.

“Hey,” he says, offering a soft smile. Dave’s fingers interlocks with his and he blinks, eyes heavy with sleep, and sighs.

“Hey,” he croaks. 

“Sleep okay?” Asks Klaus, running his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. Dave hums slightly, lets his eyes slip closed for a moment before forcing them back open.

“Didn’t dream,” he says.

“Ah,” Klaus muses, “perfect, then.”

Dave snorts softly, inclining his head slightly. “Indeed.” He pulls his hand from Klaus’ to cover his mouth as he yawns, then drags it over his head. “You?”

“Not quite,” he sighs, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “Can’t quite fall asleep. I’ll try again after dinner, I guess.” He shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly and rolls his head to peer at Dave again to see him watching him. Dave shuffles a little closer, reaching out a hand and resting it on his cheek, and Klaus tilts his head into the touch.

He doesn’t say anything, but his fingertips run lightly along his cheek, pushing through the short fuzz on his head and drawing a shiver from him, and he repeats the motion until Klaus’ eyes slip closed to revel in the touch more. 

Dave’s gentle touches make him feel vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt before. It scares him in a different way to everything else, and now he has the time and space to think about it. He doesn’t think he could hide anything from Dave no matter how hard he might try, even if he wanted to. 

Dave’s thumb runs underneath his eye, follows along his cheekbone. With a heavy hand, Klaus rests it on his forearm, fingers stretching out over the back of Dave’s hand. His eyes stay closed and Dave continues to stroke the side of his face until the touch pushes everything else away.

### 

He wakes up with a jerk and a hand on his shoulder. He blinks groggily, taking a moment to orient himself until he realises that Dave is urging him to lay back down. 

“All good?” He asks, voice breaking through the cotton in his head, although it still takes Klaus several moments for his hazy mind to process the words. He brings one hand up to rub his eyes, takes a moment to look around the infirmary and feel the mattress beneath him, and then he answers Dave with a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, scratching his cheek. Whatever he dreamt is already too far away for him to remember. “How - uh, how long was I asleep for?”

Dave’s eyes bounce around the room, searching out a clock. “Hour, maybe.”

“Ooh,” Klaus coos. “New record.”

Dave snorts, nudging his knee beneath the blanket, and Klaus offers a lopsided smile in return. “Your mother brought tea in not too long ago. Probably still warm,” he says, nodding to the nearby table. Klaus doesn’t have much of an appetite for it, but he can’t imagine leaving it untouched, so he reaches for it, hands one off to Dave, then sips tentatively at his own tea. 

“My Mom had a good recipe for tea,” Dave murmurs. Klaus’ eyes snap to him and he quirks an eyebrow, but remains quiet, lets Dave talk if that’s what he wants to do. “Never learned it. I think - I think Louise might have known it… she loved to cook with Mom. Should’ve been a chef, I said.”

He stares into his cup of tea as he talks, gaze a little distant, and Klaus listens intently and isn’t sure what to say. When it seems as if Dave has said all he wants to, he reaches out and rests a hand on his knee over the blanket. Dave blinks at him, lips parted, and after a moment’s hesitation he reaches out to rest his hand over Klaus’ and they fall silent. 

He is still struggling to figure out how best to approach Dave when he hears familiar footsteps growing closer and closer. They both tense at first, even if they both can tell who it is, and then they watch the door until Grace steps inside and carries herself over to the two of them with a smile. Dave’s hand slips off his. 

“Oh, good, you’re both awake,” she comments pleasantly. “Everyone else has just sat down for dinner.”

“We’ll be a moment,” says Klaus, beginning to slowly shuffle out of the blankets and off the bed. He holds his hand out for Dave, helps steady him as he gets up, and they both turn, tug the blanket up, and turn again to follow Grace out at a slow pace. The aches on his feet have begun to fade almost completely. In fact, as most bruises fade and his ribs heal and he isn’t running to and fro and doing work, it feels odd as the pain he has grown used to begins to fade. He had gotten used to favouring himself in certain ways when doing certain things that he finds himself not having to do as much, and the idea of not having to do it at all in a few months is… odd. It is all just odd.

The smell in the kitchen is as dizzying and nearly overwhelming as it typically always is, and he and Dave sit down at their close chairs in front of their smaller portions, and begin to pick quickly at it, mind honing in on the food and intent on finishing it all. 

At least, he thinks, Dave’s appetite seems to have picked up a little more over the past couple days, although he still eats a little slower. Although that is probably a good thing, because Klaus has to sit and steady himself for several moments when he is done; sometimes has to fight back sudden nausea. 

His siblings make ideal chat over their glances that they throw his way, and like usual he doesn’t contribute to it, but he does listen enough to pick up a few things. Things about Vanya and powers and Allison’s throat, things about staying alert, things about insignificant, unimportant chat that almost feels uncomfortable to hear his siblings having. 

He does, however, pick up on the complaining.

“Mice or rats,” says Diego, shaking his head. “Don’t know where the hell they came from, but I heard one earlier. And last night.”

“I heard it too,” says Five, frowning.

“The Academy doesn’t have mice,” says Luther, snorting.

“No, no, I swear,” insists Diego, “I saw one in the hallway by our bedroom this morning, lugging food around. Dunno why it’s decided to start hoarding bread in the walls upstairs or something. We need to set up traps, I think…”

Klaus stops listening. It’s not hard to do, considering he can’t hear anyone over the sudden ringing in his ears.

Mice and rats aren’t such a big deal for him and it takes him several moments to understand why it suddenly is in the Academy, but it is the last part that makes him realise, and he thinks back to Ben advising him to tell the others about the food hidden in his wardrobe upstairs.

It’s still edible, he thinks, even if it has been a while since he put it there, but he supposes it might have attracted some attention. And by the sounds of it, the others are upset by this, and they are going to search it out and find the food in Klaus’ room; the food he stole. He stole it, and they’re going to find it, and they aren’t happy, and he stole it and he is going to be caught and it isn’t the only thing he stole-

He is torn between the need to run away, to get as far away as he can and to hide and simply hope for the best, but at the same time his body is frozen in place because he knows there is no point in running. His lungs burn because he can’t breathe and his fingers tingle like static when he presses his hands down on the table, trying to jumpstart his own mind and body into doing something, but all he does is knock his bowl and spill soup over the table and make a mess and draw attention to himself which is exactly the opposite he wants to do. 

A hand touches his and the touch is electric and burning. He wrenches away from it and it succeeds in making him move, because he stands up abruptly, shoving his chair back, and his trembling legs take one step, two steps back, before his knees give out because they are shaking too hard to support him and he can’t feel his legs anymore.

He can feel the walls closing in on him, and fists squeezing his lungs, and he needs to -

Needs to do something-

He needs to run and keep running and keep running but it doesn’t matter. He’ll never be able to run far enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was extremely tired writing this chapter, so... apologies if it is entirely incoherent. I'll check to make sure I haven't just posted a 3K long keyboard smash in the morning, but until then... thoughts?


	16. Chapter 16

It happens very suddenly. 

Dave is pacing himself as he eats, mindful of the discomfort and unrest going too fast brings him and he is eager to avoid that. He doesn’t really ever listen in on what Klaus’ siblings are talking about, and he and Klaus are often quiet over dinner too. So he doesn’t know at all what it is that sets Klaus off, but all of a sudden there is a loud, harsh gasp from beside him, and when he turns he sees Klaus, staring at the table with wide eyes. He gasps again, then again, and again, he is hyperventilating and trembling violently. Everyone else at the table has gone silent, conversation stilted.

“Klaus?” Says one of his siblings, all of them frowning. A few glances are thrown his way as if he might know what is wrong, but Dave is just as lost. He can’t help but look back at them and then look around, trying to figure out what is happening as a jolt of anxiety seizes him. Nothing actually seems wrong, however, so he reassures himself that he is not also in trouble, so he reaches out and rests his hand on Klaus’ to try and get his attention, but it seems like the wrong thing to do.

He wrenches his hands away from Dave, nudging his bowl and spilling food over the table. He pauses slightly, eyes widening even more, and a guttural sound rolls in the back of his throat, stumbles backwards and falls over. Everyone, Dave included, jumps to their feet after Klaus.

Dave is the closest to him, following him to the ground almost immediately, and his hands hover uselessly over him, unsure if touching him would be the right thing to do again. Not when Klaus curls in on himself and throws his arms up around his head in a position Dave knows well, as if he is bracing himself for a hit. His shoulders rise and fall with each spluttered desperate attempt at breathing, and between it all he thinks he might catch few, vague mumbles, but nothing coherent or loud enough to be heard. 

“What happened?” Asks Five, and Dave can’t help but flinch away a little as all the siblings rush forwards and crowd around him and Klaus. He shuffles a little closer to him, shaking his head.

“I don’t - I don’t know, I don’t-“ he stammers, because he truly doesn’t have a clue what happened. However, he supposes nothing needed to actually happen anyway; he knows his own mind is constantly caught up over nothing real.

Allison reaches her hands out, shoving at Diego and Luther to urge them back despite their confused look. Beside her, Vanya nods in agreement, saying, “he needs space.”

“Did something happen?” Luther asks. “What do we do?”

Tentatively, Dave ducks his head a little lower, trying to see Klaus’ face to no avail. He reaches out, gently resting a hand on his shoulder, and Klaus’ jerks and presses himself to the floor, keening. He has to stop himself from pulling his hand away, even if he knows it is probably doing more harm than good with whatever his thought process is in the moment. He didn’t know how else to get his attention however, and he feared that if he couldn’t, Klaus was going to work himself up enough to pass out. 

His hand moves from his shoulder and to Klaus’ own, cradling his head, and it isn’t hard to pull one of them off and hold it. Klaus just moves his other arm to cover his head, although he shakes it rapidly, mutters something again that Dave can’t get.

“Klaus,” he says, lowering himself onto the ground to try and get in his lime of view. “Klaus, Klaus, look at me, please.”

He reaches one hand out beneath him, fingers ghosting his face and persevering when Klaus flinches and his nails dig into Dave’s hand as he tenses. He keeps going, trying to get Klaus’ attention enough for him to look at him, to focus on him. It is unnerving to try and do under the scrutiny of his siblings, who watch him as if they think he might have done something to put Klaus in this position, but no matter how anxious it makes him his priority is Klaus. 

He squeezes his hand, keeps his touches consistently gentle, leaning close enough that he hopes Klaus should be able to hear him when he tries to talk to him. 

His siblings hover awkwardly around him, looking frustrated at their own helplessness, but they at least stay quiet and let Dave try to bring Klaus out of his panic attack. 

It is much harder said than done, and Dave thinks it might only begin to ease because he simply exhausts himself and the fear spikes to a point where he begins to feel numb, but the hyperventilating slows until he is wheezing and breathless on the floor, trembling and twitching and clinging onto his hand in a way that Dave is sure is going to leave bruises, but he would never complain. 

He runs his hand down Klaus’ back and watches him screw his eyes shut. Voice hoarse, he croaks out, “‘m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Klaus,” he says. “You didn’t do anything, you didn’t-”

Klaus shakes his head again, inhales shakily and brings one hand up to wipe at his face, wiping away tears. His lips move over silent words, stumbling and uncertain, and Dave squeezes his hand again; keeps running his hand down his back. “Shhh,” he hushes. “We’re okay, Klaus. Breathe.”

Klaus’ face screws up again slightly and his lip wobbles when he exhales. Gently, Dave takes hold of his arms and tries to help him sit up from his still-curled up position, supporting him until he gets used to the new position. 

“I was stupid,” he whispers, eyes closed and shoulders shaking. “I did something bad, Dave, I’m sorry, I did - god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Dave’s eyes flick briefly over his siblings, who stare back just as confused and curious, but still Dave has simply no clue what Klaus is talking about. They both have been quiet and timid since they came here; have hardly done anything. Not to Dave’s knowledge, anyway.

“Klaus?” Says Diego, voice quiet and hesitant, and Klaus startles as if he forgot his siblings were there. He turns sharply, red-rimmed eyes widening at the sight of everyone around him, and then he starts to cry and apologise again. Biting his lip, Diego shared a look with his siblings before he decided to be the one to approach, crouching down. “Klaus, you didn’t do anything,” he says, but it sounds almost like a question.

“The mice,” Klaus croaks brokenly, hanging his head. 

“Klaus, the mice aren’t your fault,” says Diego, thoroughly confused, and Klaus shakes his head and refuses to look up.

“Wait, wait,” utters Five, coming closer and crouching down in front of Klaus, elbow on his knees. “Klaus, what do you mean?”

Klaus sniffles audibly, head dipping a little lower as his cheeks burn brighter, and he doesn’t respond when Dave squeezes his hand or his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, inhaling shakily. For several moments he is quiet, jaw clenched, and then he blinks open his eyes to stare at the ground in front of him. “There’s… there’s food, upstairs. In my wardrobe. It’s been there… a while.” 

Dave watches the siblings share looks, still a little confused and uncertain. “You hid food in your wardrobe?” Asks Five, and Klaus inhales in a way that is almost like a hiccup before he nods.

“And - and the cabinets in the - back of the infirmary,” he adds shakily. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I stole it when everyone was asleep, and I - I’m sorry, I just - I’m sorry.”

The admission makes Dave hold his breath, eyes going a little wide as he watches the siblings for their reactions. His hand tightens slightly on Klaus’ shoulder and he rakes his mind to try and remember when Klaus did this. He can remember the food upstairs and suddenly realises he doesn’t remember either of them ever taking that food back downstairs, but the food hidden in the infirmary is completely new to him. For a moment, he fears that Klaus, or both of them, are about to be punished for it and he fiercely understands Klaus’ panic, but then-

“Klaus, you’re - you’re not in trouble,” Diego states, after making a choked sound in his throat. “You’re not in trouble, christ, it’s just - fuck.”

Allison nudges Diego’s shoulder, giving him a look with slightly teary eyes, and then everyone is quiet as she scribbles on her notepad, pauses, then shoves it at Vanya and nods to Klaus.

Vanya flounders for a moment before looking down to read it for her. “Klaus, it - you aren’t in trouble, we aren’t mad at you at all. We didn’t mean to upset you at all.” She hands the notepad back off to Allison and everyone seems to watch Klaus for his reaction, but he is still shaking and crying quietly, continuing to shake his head and keep his gaze down.

Exhaling slowly, Dave shakes off his own lingering fear at the idea of punishment and consequences, and he leans forwards so that he is close to his ear. “Klaus, you aren’t in trouble,” he states, running his hand down his back. “They’re fine, Klaus. It’s okay.”

“We’ll have to get rid of it,” says Five, speaking a little slowly as if trying to gauge Klaus’ reaction. “Because it’ll just go off and the mice or whatever will get worse, right? That’s it, Klaus.” He pauses, lips pursed. “Do you understand that you’re not in trouble?”

Hesitantly, Klaus’ head jerks in a nod. He still doesn’t look up; still shakes; shudders with each breath. He loosens his hold on Dave’s hand just a little, as if only realising how tight he was holding it. Dave can’t lie and say it isn’t a little relieving, feeling his nails stop digging into him. In return, he rubs his shoulder and keeps gently running his hand down his back. 

“You’re not in trouble,” repeats Diego. “I-I - Klaus, you’re allowed to  _ eat _ , Klaus.”

That draws a noise from Klaus. He screws his eyes shut again, face pinched, and his head shakes minutely. He looks, for a moment, as if he might say something, but he isn’t surprised when he doesn’t actually do so. 

Five’s head cocks to the side slightly. “Why did you do it?” He asks, and Klaus flinches a little.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, and Five shakes his head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Klaus. No one’s mad. But you’re allowed to eat when you’re hungry, and you’re allowed to come in the kitchen.” 

Klaus bites his lower lip, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling instead, skillfully still managing to avoid actually looking at anyone else. 

“Klaus?” Asks Luther when everyone is quiet for several moments, and Klaus takes a moment to scrub at his face. He leans into Dave a little more. 

“I - I can’t,” he says, and he manages to keep his tone deceptively gentle despite how desperate Dave can imagine he feels, but he has gotten good at controlling his tone and keeping it as non-provocative as possible. Both of them have.

“What do you mean?” Asks Vanya, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I can’t,” he repeats, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Every - every time I come in, you try and - get me out, or when I try to get food you - tell me not to, and it’s only at certain times, and I just - I’m home. I’m home, and I can go in the kitchen, and I can eat, but I  _ can’t  _ because you stop me and I - I know I stole it and I’m sorry but I just - I thought I could.”

He swipes at his eyes again, sniffling and looking away from everyone. When Dave dares to turn his gaze from Klaus to his siblings, he is partly surprised to see varying looks of sudden guilt and realisation. 

“The schedule,” mutters Five, and Klaus gives a jerky nod, cheeks heating up as if he is ashamed. 

Dave doesn’t have many thoughts on the way their meals and snacks are scheduled. He has grown familiar to a strict schedule by now, and it isn’t too hard to slip from one to another, and this isn’t his home so he doesn’t struggle with feeling as if he should be able to slip into the kitchen and take whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Klaus, on the other hand, is home and feels as if he should feel perfectly safe and content and have all the freedom he had once, and the schedule just takes it all away.

There is the sound of a pen rapidly scribbling on paper again, and then Allison is handing off the notepad to Vanya again, who takes it in faintly shaking hands, swallows, and begins to read it.

“The - the schedule wasn’t to - limit you, Klaus, it’s - if you ate too much too quickly, it could kill you, Klaus,” she says, voice wavering. “Mom was - measuring it out, to make sure it didn’t make you sick, and we were all just - worried, and we didn’t want to end up making you worse, and we didn’t think about that.”

“Fuck,” says Diego, scrubbing his hands down his face and looking away. His head shakes and he inhales, and Five has stood up again and looks a little - conflicted, but mostly closed off and unreadable - and Klaus leans more against Dave. “We just wanted to help - we needed to ease you into it, Grace was watching it all and we didn’t want you to get worse, and - damnit. We just - you’re not in trouble, okay? You’re not in trouble, Klaus. We didn’t want to make you sick.”

Klaus sniffles and nods, startling a little when Diego comes closer and finally he turns to look at them all. “‘M sorry,” he mumbles again, looking at his lap as his fingers pinch the hem of his shirt. “I - I spilled food, when I stood up.”

“We’ll get that,” says Diego quickly, dismissing his apology, and then he looks around at everyone else. “Do you - want to sit back down? There’s still some left, or Mom can make more, or-”

“Can - can I lay down?” Klaus asks meekly. “I want to lay down.”

Everyone nods their agreement eagerly, so Dave stands up, holding his hands out for Klaus to take. His legs shake violently as he stands, so much so that he can’t stand fully upright and Dave hurries to wrap an arm around his waist to offer him some more support. Klaus curls his fingers into Dave’s sweater, clinging onto him, and they shuffle back to the infirmary with the siblings all following them. On the bed, he settles and pulls his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around himself. He still swipes at his eyes occasionally, still sniffling and trembling. He doesn’t react much as Dave sits down on the bed next to him either, but he props his chin up on his knees and stares at the end of the bed. After a moment, he swallows and looks around, and then he points a finger to the cabinets at the far end of the room.

“There’s food in there,” he murmurs, dropping his hand back down. One of the siblings wanders over after a moment of deciding who should clear it out first, and Luther is the one to do it. He opens the cabinet and as he does so there is an audible  _ squeak  _ that makes everyone except Klaus and Dave (and Five) jump. He reaches in and pulls out a handful of different food. There’s fruit, and bread, and random snacks, and Dave realises it must have been in there for a few days because it all brings a smell with it that makes everyone else, sans Dave and Klaus (and still Five) grimace.

“Well, it’s off,” says Luther, holding it slightly away from himself. 

“You can still eat it,” mumbles Klaus, a little defensively. He shuffles, glancing at it all in Luther’s arms, and looks away again. “It’s still good.”

Dave has to agree with Klaus on that. It is all still very much edible, and he would have eaten it if given it before. He still would. It takes him a moment to remember that that isn’t normal.

“Would you-” Diego pauses, shuffling uncomfortably. He looks disturbed as he asks, “would you still have eaten that?”

Klaus blinks at him. “Yes.”

Diego doesn’t respond to that. Klaus’ head goes back down onto his knees and he toys with his lip.

“I - I also stole the broom,” he whispers, pointing to the broom in the corner of the room.

“Klaus,” says Five. “You didn’t steal anything. You’re home. You can do what you like.”

The reassurance is nice, thinks Dave, but he knows it is so much harder said than done. Klaus’ head tips in a slight nod but he remains quiet otherwise, eyes staring straight ahead. His siblings hover, trying to decide whether they want to turn the corner and start an important conversation that they can’t back out of. Allison scribbles on her notepad and shows it to everyone, and he watches as they frown, exchange conflicted looks.

“Klaus,” repeats Five, taking a step forwards only to falter. 

“Can I sleep?” Klaus asks, blinking tiredly at his siblings. “I - please? I’m sorry, I’m just - I’m tired, please. I don’t… want to talk, right now.”

“Sure,” croaks Diego. “Whatever you want, Klaus. We-” He pauses, swallowing and looking at the others. “Yeah.”

Allison holds up her notepad, shuffling closer and holding it out to him.  _ We love you, Klaus. _

He blinks tearful eyes again, swallowing and nodding. “I love you too,” he utters, voice strained, and then the others slowly, reluctantly, recede from the room, leaving Dave and Klaus alone. He takes the opportunity to let some tension melt from his muscles and turns to look at Klaus, watching as he lies down on the bed, slipping beneath the covers. He places his back to the door, facing Dave, but his eyes don’t quite focus on him properly. When he blinks, the light in the room catches on a tear as it slides down his cheeks. 

Dave, uncertain any words would be of any use to him, instead simply rests his hand on Klaus’ shoulder to let him know that he is there, and Klaus doesn’t respond. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it<3

Grace asks if they want to help her cook.

It makes Klaus feel a little tense, honestly, but following the whole fiasco with the food, it feels better than he would like to admit to be in the kitchen; to hold food in his hands; to remind himself that it’s not restricted. Plus, there’s some kind of soothing air to the kitchen; the gentle heat, the mouth-watering smell of food, the sound of Grace’s heels clicking on the floor. He can get lost in it. 

Grace insists he and Dave sit down at the table if they help her when they can; sitting down to cut vegetables, sitting down to mix things, to pour things. They have to find a good middle ground between resting and letting their bodies heal physically, and letting them do what helps them mentally, be it sitting outside or moving to the living room or helping in the kitchen. Klaus isn’t exactly sure they do find that middle ground, but some days are better than others. He tries to take it one day at a time, but truthfully, he never knows what’s going to happen when he wakes up.

Today has been quiet. It still is. He isn’t sure if it’s a good kind of quiet or a tense one; one he can relax and let go in or one where he should be holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He tries not to dwell on it. Really, he’s too tired to.

The constant stress and anxiety is exhausting. Being on edge is exhausting. Over thinking and worrying and being afraid that he’s going to wake up there again is exhausting, yet he can’t help it, can’t stop it, no matter how safe he knows he is. He just revels in the days where that exhaustion is so heavy that he almost feels numb. 

Now, he pours his energy into chopping even slices of carrots. He and Dave are still on soft, light meals, but they help cook his sibling’s meals too. He cuts another slice, risks glancing up at Dave who is peeling potatoes, shoulders relaxed and eyes soft, focused on his task. Klaus chops another slice, nudging it to one end of the cutting board. He picks up the next carrot and continues to do the same until all of the carrots have been cut, and then he stands and takes it over to Grace. 

“Lovely,” she says, smiling as she sees the work he’s done. One of her hands rest on his wrist for a moment and she smiles at him. “Thank you, dear. I don’t need anything else done at the moment, feel free to sit back down.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, and his eyes flutter closed for a brief second when she tips her head down to kiss his forehead, and then he whisks himself away to sit beside Dave. “How’s it coming?” He asks after a moment of silence.

“Almost done,” he mumbles, picking up the last unpeeled potato. His eyes flick up, watching as Klaus pulls his feet up onto the chair, wrapping his arms around his legs. His head tips to the side slightly and Klaus offers him a twitch of his lips, watching his hands as he goes back to his task. Klaus chews at his thumbnail, curls his toes against the chair. His feet aren’t as sore anymore, these days; bruises and blisters healed, no more aching from constantly running and marching. He pushes his feet down against the chair, revelling in the way it doesn’t hurt.

The worst of his bruises are beginning to fade now too, the ones on his hips and his ribs, and it’s almost exhilarating watching them disappear. They’ve been there for so long he’s gotten used to them. 

Dave’s are fading too, of course. He sees the way they change colours and begin to fade away. There used to be a bruise on his wrist a few days ago, but as Klaus watches him now he can hardly see a trace of it. He can’t help but reach out, ghosting his fingertips over the spot where it used to be. Dave startles a little, turning to look at him; offers him something similar to a smile, and lets Klaus’ hand stay there. 

Grace comes to take the potatoes from him, and Klaus sits with one hand on Dave’s wrist, biting his nail without tasting dirt under it. Grace dismisses them, nothing else for them to help her with, and Klaus lingers on his chair for a moment before standing, urging Dave to his feet and leading him to the living room, sitting nearby the fire. He focuses on the feeling of Dave’s thigh against his, and the gentle warmth from the fire, and tries not to focus on anything else. He might even be able to drift off to sleep like this, thoughtless and numb.

Beside him, Dave shifts a little, looking around. “Can I… look at that?” He asks, and Klaus hums, lifting his head.

“Huh?”

Dave points at the bookshelf at the back of the room. “Uh, yeah,” says Klaus, sitting up to let Dave stand up. “Yeah, you can.”

Despite this, both of them stay still for a moment. “You’re sure? I can read one of them?”

Klaus presses his lips together, anxiety stopping him from confidently reassuring Dave that he can. First, he has to reassure himself, feeling a little silly because he knows the answer is yes, but it still takes him a while before he can nod. “Yeah,” he repeats. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You can read any of them.”

Dave eyes the bookshelf as if it might lunge for him, but he leeches some confidence from Klaus and they wander forwards. Dave’s fingers run along the spines of the books hesitantly, eyes wide as he looks at them all, and Klaus thinks briefly back to his old bookstore. He doesn’t say anything as Dave browses the books, finally settling on one and plucking it from its spot on the shelf with great care.

“I’ve read this one,” he murmurs, staring at the cover. Klaus peers at it, but he’s never heard of it. 

“Do you want to read it?” Klaus asks, and Dave bobs his head. They head back to the couch, sitting down, and Klaus watches as Dave opens the book, turning the pages delicately. His shoulder digs into Klaus’ side. He reads the book quietly to himself, though Klaus doesn’t mind; listening to the faint crackle of the nearby fire and watching his fingers turn the pages, the way his lips move silently, softly, around the words on the pages. There’s a soft shine to his eyes as if he’s remembering the first time reading it, when he might have been at home, where it was his own mother cooking dinner rather than Grace, and his own sisters in the house rather than Klaus’, and everyone had been together and safe. 

Klaus’ head tips forwards a little to rest against his shoulder, and he lifts his legs up onto the couch to get more comfortable. Dave nudges hima little, acknowledging him, but he doesn’t stop reading. 

A little abruptly, Dave stops reading. He marks the page with his finger and closes it slowly, jerking Klaus out of his daze of watching his hand. He reaches out, resting one hand on his arm. “You okay?” He asks. Dave swallows, blinks a few times, and then looks away. He nods, once.

“Yeah. Fine,” he says, and Klaus doesn’t push. Dave closes the book properly, sets it aside on the couch, puts his hands down. Klaus runs his hand down his arm to reach his hand, and when Dave spreads his fingers, Klaus interlocks them together; turns them around to look at his hand, running his thumb along it. 

He can smell Grace’s cooking coming from the kitchen. Occasionally he catches the sounds of his siblings around the house, although after falling asleep at lunch, he hasn’t seen any of them. They all tiptoe around him and Dave, all constantly lingering and hovering around them to a point it’s nearly suffocating, so it’s nice to have this time with Dave without being watched. More than usual, at least, but he has gotten good at ignoring the ghosts now. 

A sigh falls from Dave’s lips and he leans back a little, head tipped up to stare at the ceiling. Hesitating a little, he asks, “is the book good?” 

Huffing a small laugh, Dave shrugs the shoulder Klaus isn’t leaning on. “I like it.”

Klaus peers at the book again. “Would you read it to me?” He asks in a joking tone, and Dave’s lips quirk upwards. He squeezes Klaus’ hand, tips his head to the side.

“Maybe,” he says. “If you wanted.”

“You do have a very nice voice.” Klaus gives him a grin that stretches his cheeks, almost painful, and Dave snorts, looking away. Klaus sits up a little. “I’m being deadly serious, Dave.”

“Well, thank you,” he drawls. Pleased at the way he managed to make him smile, Klaus shifts a little to face him better, lifts his other hand to his face to cup his cheek. Dave tips his head into his hand, shoulders slumping a little more. 

Being able to make Dave smile makes something warm settle in his chest, along with the way he manages to get him to relax. He smiles in return, runs his thumb along his cheek, underneath his bright eyes, warm where the fire reflects in them. 

He tips his head forwards a little, ghosting his lips over Dave’s; feels him tense briefly before relaxing. Klaus settles back down by his side, eyes lingering on him. He can’t help it, feeling entranced by the warmth of his eyes and curve of his nose, chest swelling with admiration for the man in front of him. 

He opens his mouth, perhaps to tell him that, or something close to it, because he’s never been particularly good with words, when Grace peers inside. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she tells them with a smile. “I’m going to go get your siblings down. Help yourself.”

He and Dave pull apart, standing up quickly with her entrance. “Thanks,” says Klaus, watching her disappear to find everyone else. He squeezes Dave’s hand gently before heading to the kitchen, although his stomach still feels full and bloated with all the food he’s had recently. Still, he does his best to finish his meal, feeling more sick at the idea of leaving food rather than being uncomfortably full.

Diego is out somewhere, missing dinner with them. Like it usually is these days, it is awkwardly silent save for the sound of everyone eating and the sound of the crying corpse in the corner of the room that Klaus tries not to pay any attention to. The ghosts have gotten louder again, and he suspects that comes with him rebuilding his strength, and he suspects that it won’t be long before they all get drawn to him again and continue making it their sole purpose to torment him. He’s not quite sure how he’ll cope with that again, but he tries not to think about it.

Ben joins his side again after dinner, following him and Dave back towards the infirmary. They get to the door before a thought strikes Klaus and he pauses. “Hold on.” He takes a step back, offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile when he sees a flicker of anxiety on Dave’s face, and then he hurries as fast as he can, which really isn’t that fast at all still, in the direction of the living room.

When he returns to Dave still waiting in the doorway, he waves the book from earlier in his hand; watches tension slip from Dave’s shoulders as his lips turn up in a fond smile. 

“It’s a good book,” comments Ben, following them over to the bed. Klaus hums, nodding to Dave.

“He likes it,” he states, much to Dave’s confusion. 

“Good taste,” his brother murmurs, sitting down nearby, watching as they fumble to get comfortable on the bed. Tired from dinner and with a growing headache from the growing ruckus in the house with the ghosts’ activity, and with Dave by his side, he feels as if he could already take another nap. He’s sure Ben would praise him for how much sleep he’s gotten in the past couple days alone. 

He keeps his eyes open to watch Dave shift on the bed, messing with the blankets on his legs, picking at them. When he notices Klaus watching him, he pauses and quirks an eyebrow slightly.

“You should go to sleep if you’re tired,” he murmurs gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Klaus covers it with one of his own, shrugging half-heartedly. 

“Are you?”

Dave copies his shrug, sinking a little lower in the bed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and Klaus huffs.

“I know.” He presses his lips together, eyelids fluttering. A ghost lumbers by in the hallway and he does his best to ignore the sound of a body dragging. It’s almost disturbingly easy to put it into insignificant background noise. “But-”

“It’s okay,” Dave cuts him off, giving him a knowing look. His hand squeezes his shoulder gently and his eyes bounce around before landing on the book on the bed, lighting up. His lips twitch and he reaches for it after a quick glance to the door. 

“Bedtime story?” Klaus muses, nudging him with his elbow, and Dave snorts.

“If you want,” he agrees. He opens it to the first page as Klaus shifts, lying down beside him, and then he begins to read. Klaus tries to follow the story, but Dave’s voice lulls him closer to sleep. His eyelids flutter and he feels more relaxed and safe than he has in a while, and the words morph into a pleasant buzz in the back of his ears, and he finds himself drifting off quickly to the sound of it, 

### 

_ Klaus’ footsteps are nearly silent as he wanders through the house. The floorboards creak beneath his weight, the only sound in the house, and when he peers around, he’s alone.  _

_ He finds Dave outside. Sitting in the sun, Dave has a book in his hands, idly turning the pages. He looks up to greet Klaus with a smile, eyes crinkling as he does, and Klaus feels himself copying it. He sits down beside Dave, glancing down at what he’s reading, the way he holds the book open with his thumb between the pages. He manoeuvres his hands so he can offer one to Klaus, which he takes happily, melting against his side. _

_ “What you reading?” Klaus asks curiously, and Dave turns the cover towards him, although it’s blurred and hazy and Klaus can’t make out what it is. He hums, not bothered, and watches as Dave goes back to his reading. His hair is longer again, and his skin looks healthy, glowing in the sunlight, and he doesn’t look so stressed and tense. He squeezes Klaus’ hand and smiles at him and it feels like there’s nothing to worry about.  _

_ Clouds move to hide the sun, and a breeze begins to pick up, chilling his skin. Reluctantly, he peels himself away from Dave, who doesn’t seem to notice the sudden chill in the air. “We should go inside,” he states, standing up. Dave follows him onto his feet, looking a little confused but not objecting.  _

_ They go back inside, and it’s not the Academy. He blinks at the bookstore around him, dimly lit with a few candles; vandalised windows boarded up, shelves messed up with missing, torn, and burnt books.  _

_ Dave sets his book aside, making a small attempt at hiding it behind a few others. He walks carefully, snuffing out the candles that are too close to the windows and door that run a risk of being seen. There’s noise out on the streets, and Klaus can’t help but blink and look around, looking for the door he came through that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.  _

_ “Dave-” _

_ “Shhh,” he hushes gently, then points to the door that leads to his apartment upstairs. Confused and on edge, Klaus creeps closer to it, mouth closed, and just as Dave opens it, the front door shakes, handle twisting. He and Dave startle, whipping around to watch the door with wide eyes. It shakes roughly, and then thuds, again and again. There’s yelling, demands and threats, and he and Dave look between the front door and the one behind them, torn between what to do. _

_ Too late to make a decision, the front door bursts open, and flashlights blind them as officers flood in, yelling at them. Klaus hardly has a moment to understand what’s happening, to translate what’s being yelled at him, before hands grab his arms and he’s stumbling out, and he can’t see Dave in the mess of officers and flashlights and glinting guns and yelling and people peering out to watch them but no one stops or says anything. _

_ He’s in a car full of strangers. He twists and turns, finally catching sight of the bookshop again, and he watches as Dave’s sisters are pulled out rougher than necessary, and Dave tries to help them’ struggles in the grip he’s in, holds his hands out and yells at them to stop.  _

_ A flashlight bounces off a raised gun, and a gunshot shatters the air. _

Klaus wakes up to screaming. 

He jerks upright, eyes wide, gasping. It sounds like an echo from his dream, and he thinks it is for a moment, but it doesn’t fade and is too loud, too close.

He’s in the infirmary, and there’s screaming, and his hands fumble to try and find Dave but the bed is empty. He thinks of the gunshot, imagines Dave’s body tumbling to the floor, and maybe he imagined it all, maybe Dave was always dead-

His hands come up to cover his ears, trying to muffle the screaming and wailing that echoes around the room, and he calls out for Dave, even if he’s afraid he’ll see him and realise he’s just a ghost.

“Klaus, he’s not here,” says Ben, suddenly in front of him, and Klaus makes a choked noise. Ben grimaces, and they both flinch when the wailing picks up. “He’s just in another room - he’s fine, he’s with Luther, Klaus, you’re both fine-”

He wants the screaming to stop. It must be a ghost, he thinks, but a part of him thinks back to stumbling off the train, the wailing children being separated from their parents, and the screaming of someone breaking down, being hurt, and the yelling, and he struggles to ground himself in the infirmary bed.

Ben looks panicked, struggling to calm him down, voice sounding muffled and distant, and he reaches out-

And touches him. Klaus startles, head snapping up as Ben’s hands rest on his arms, and even Ben looks very surprised. His breath catches in his throat and he and Ben stare at one another for a moment, and then Ben shifts a little, holding his arms out. 

Klaus takes the invitation, falling forwards. He can feel his leather jacket, cool to the touch, and feel Ben’s hands settle on his back; his chin on his shoulder. It feels surreal, being able to touch his brother after over a decade of having him by his side, and it takes his attention away from the dream, the noise, the panic. 

“You’re okay,” says Ben, rubbing his back. “Dave’s okay, he’ll be back soon. You’re okay, Klaus.”

His fingers curl in his leather jacket, holding it tight, and he closes his eyes and holds tightly onto his brother. Ben doesn't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know your thoughts :)  
If there’s anything you want to see in this fic, feel free to let me know as well <3


	18. Chapter 18

Luther isn’t sure he’s necessarily the right person to be checking in on and Klaus and Dave.

He isn’t an idiot, and he isn’t blind either; he can see how the two of them get when he’s around. He doesn’t take it personally - or, he doesn’t try to, at least - because Luther is very aware of what he looks like, even without the super strength. His stature is intimidating, and he’s used to being Number One and acting and speaking like a leader, taking charge of things.

He hadn’t realised that was such a problem until he saw just how tense and on edge it made his brother and his friend. 

Admittedly, he had been hurt at first, but he had eventually understood that it wasn’t a personal thing, and it wasn’t his fault, nor was it Klaus or Dave’s. They didn’t mean it but they can’t help it either, and Luther doesn’t hold that against them. As much as he wants to help them, he accepts that he probably resembles a lot of their fear and trauma. 

So, Luther does his best to help without getting too close. He’ll watch them when he passes by and can catch a glimpse of them; he’ll ask Allison if she’s seen them and how they’re doing; he hunches his shoulders, ducks his head, softens his footsteps and his voice, and he reads. 

When everyone left the Academy and it was just him, he read a lot. It helped pass the time and he could live within fantasy novels or he could learn a lot about different cultures, different places; different times. He rereads the books in the library on the Second World War; he looks for even more about that time. He goes to the library when the one in the Academy proves to not have much more on that period of time, and he spends a day there simply reading. 

He reads about Judaism to try and hopefully understand Dave a little more, too, and gently hints to Grace about kosher food. Neither he nor Klaus’ diet is ready for heavier or bigger meals yet, but at least he knows that when Grace does start to introduce more food to them, it will be something that Dave can eat. 

It’s odd, having Dave in the Academy. He can tell he is obviously very important to Klaus, but no one really knows him or how to act around him, but nonetheless he is here now, and he’s important to his brother, so Luther wants to make sure that he’s okay too. 

After dinner, everyone seems preoccupied with themselves, and so Luther decides to stop by the infirmary to check on them in case no one else has. He knocks the door before nudging it open so as to not surprise them, and then he peers inside. 

Klaus and Dave are on the same bed they always are on, and it seems as if Klaus is asleep. Dave is sitting upright, a book in his hands, though he stares at Luther with wide eyes and tense shoulders. 

“Hey,” Luther offers, stepping quietly inside. “You both okay?”

Dave swallows, glancing down at Klaus. “He’s, uh - Klaus is asleep,” he murmurs, and he refuses to quite meet Luther’s eyes, always stopping somewhere by his mouth and never going higher. 

“That’s - good,” says Luther, awkwardly. “You both need to rest.”

Dave nods in agreement, staring down at his lap. Luther steps a little closer. “What’re you reading?” He asks curiously, and Dave tenses, closing the book.

“I - Klaus said I could, I’m sorry-”

“You can,” reassures Luther, waving one hand dismissively, but keeping the motion low. He’s seen the way they both flinch. “You can, it’s fine. I was just wondering what book it was. I like to read too.”

They’re both so damn scared all the time. Dave’s hands shake as he turns the book to look at the cover. “ _ Wuthering Heights, _ ” he reads. Luther quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s good,” he says. “I like that one - I think our library has a couple other books from that family.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave agrees, head bobbing in a nod. His shoulders relax a little, though not entirely. “It is.”

“You can take whatever you want from the library,” Luther says, and wanders a little closer. There’s a chair near the bed, and though he hadn’t planned on staying here long, he thinks that standing around will only make Dave nervous, so he sits down, tries to sink a little lower in the seat. 

Dave, he thinks, is only a few inches shorter than himself, around Klaus’ height, but despite both of them reaching six foot tall, they’re both so  _ small.  _ Especially up close. They might be eating better now, but if they’ve gained any weight yet it’s not enough to be visible. With his super strength, Luther is honestly worried to even lay a hand on their shoulder in case he hurts them.

He can’t help but look down at Klaus, who is nearly unrecognisable on the bed. He still looks sick; still looks too close to death. It’s almost disturbing and definitely unsettling to look at them, so unhealthily skinny, but at least the baggy clothes they wear do a little to hide the extent of how poorly they are. He’s not sure how well he’d cope if he saw just exactly how frail his brother was, knowing that there’s hardly anything he can do to help and that he hadn’t been able to protect him.

Diego had had to help him and Dave once, when they took a bath and were too weak to get back to Klaus’ bedroom without help. He’d been pale and shaken after the ordeal and shut himself off in his bedroom. 

Staring at Klaus on the bed, Luther feels horrible for not being able to protect him. If nothing else though, he has to be there for him now.

He turns back to Dave, still staring warily at him, and after a moment of hesitation, he suggests what had been on his mind for the past couple of days.

“We have a lot of books in the library,” he states. “And a fair few history books. It… I can’t imagine it’s all that easy to just,” he gestures vaguely around them, “slip into this - deal with time travel, and all. But I thought that maybe it’d help you settle, or get a little bit of closure, maybe. If you want?”

Dave blinks at him, eyes wide, seemingly in shock for a moment. He wets his lips before speaking quietly. “It’s - what year is it?” 

“Twenty-nineteen,” answers Luther. Dave’s eyes flutter and he nods, exhaling slowly.

“That’d be nice,” he murmurs. “Could - could we?”

Luther nods, rising to his feet. “I’ll show you where they are, if you want.”

Dave hesitates just a moment before nodding, and though he tenses when Luther stretches out a hand, he takes it to help him stand up. Klaus doesn’t stir, and Luther hesitates for a moment, staring down at his brother fast asleep, and then he fixes the blanket over him before turning and guiding Dave out of the infirmary.

He finds the books that he had in mind for him, all purposefully pulled out a little of their places to stick out and be easy to find. It was hard to think of what Dave might be interested in knowing, and he’s missed so much in the world that it’d be hard to cover it all in a way that wouldn’t have Dave reading all day every day for weeks. 

He starts by offering a book about the war that he had read and found thoroughly informative, and he hopes it clears it up for Dave, who just came from that place and time. He has another, broader history book that at least covers some of the more significant events from the fifties to the early two-thousands, and he tried to get something that covers more about actual society rather than military or politics. 

He sets those books out on the coffee table. “There’s plenty more, too,” he says, watching as Dave studies the covers of all three of them. He glances back at Luther and it’s subtle, but Luther gets it; he nods his head in silent permission for him to actually reach out and take any one of the books. Swallowing, he continues; “I just thought that, uh, those covered a fair bit that you’d probably find useful.”

As he expected, Dave goes for the book on the war first. He takes it and settles down on the couch nearby, and Luther sits on an armchair close to him. 

“I know it’s probably hard being here, but I just wanted to let you know that we’re here for you too. My brother cares about you,” he says. Dave blinks at him, still looking shocked by everything he says, and he offers a smile that looks as if it doesn’t quite fit right on his face.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and then he opens the book and begins to skim to where Luther assumes is closest to the time he was in. 

They’re quiet for a while, Dave engrossed in his book. Luther glances at the shelves nearby, trying to think of any other books that might be useful for Dave, when he speaks up. 

“So, we won?”

“The war?” Asks Luther, and Dave nods. “Yeah, yeah, we won. The, uh, camps were liberated, the people still in them got out.”

“Good,” murmurs Dave, looking back down at the book. “That’s good. I, uh, didn’t think anyone could get out of there.” 

Luther toys with his lip, feeling a pit in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he offers, but Dave doesn’t respond. He glances up when Luther stands, watching cautiously as he goes back to the bookshelves, but he seems to relax a little more now, which Luther is glad to see. 

He can’t imagine being so anxious and tense is doing him or Klaus any good, and it hurts to know that his presence alone can probably cause the both of them a ton of stress, but he hopes that will fade quickly. 

“I spent a few years alone,” he says, catching his attention again. “And I wrote a lot then. It helped me cope, a bit, and I know it’s not the same, but…” Luther shrugs, and then he reaches to the top of one shelf and finds one of many empty notebooks and journals there. He flicks through it, makes sure it’s not been written in, and then he sets it down with a pen on the coffee table. 

Dave’s eyes bounce between the journal and him, and he hesitantly reaches out to take it. He looks a little confused, flipping through it. “You think I should… write?”

Again, Luther shrugs. “Obviously, you don’t have to, but it might just help. You don’t have to show anyone it, but sometimes it helps to just write out what you’re thinking, or feeling. Get it out. Keep the journal, use it if you want to. I just thought it might help a little bit.”

Writing had always helped him once everyone had left the Academy and he had been so alone, and it had been possible his main coping mechanism with the isolation on the moon, too; writing stories with people in them as if he would be able to talk to them; making up lives he could almost get sucked in and pretend he was living. He wrote a lot there, living a different life when the isolation on the moon was suffocating, and then he wrote poetry to try and express how he felt - the good and the bad. It helped him cope, and maybe it would help Dave.

“Thanks,” says Dave, and he sets the journal and pen aside, giving it a thoughtful look, and then he turns to the book he was reading. 

It continues like that for a while, and Luther just hopes that he did something right to help him. He debates saying something again when he sees the way Dave slumps a little, when his eyelids flutter and head droops a little, but he’s beat to it.

“Luther?”

Both he and Dave startle, turning to look at Klaus in the doorway. His eyes are red-rimmed and wide, searching Dave out and tension visibly melts from his shoulders when he sees him. Luther stands, hovering nearby, unsure whether he should reach out to Klaus.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking his brother up and down and ignoring the urge to keep his gaze away. He has never been particularly close with Klaus, but he’s always cared about him just like he’s always cared about all of his siblings, and to see him like this pains him. He feels bad about not being there for him before - when he got kidnapped by Hazel and Cha-Cha, and even before then.

Klaus nods shakily, then nods in Dave’s direction. “I just wondered where you were.”

“I’m okay,” Dave reassures him swiftly. “I was just reading. Uh, Luther had some books for me to read.”

“Oh,” murmurs Klaus, glancing at the coffee table. His face twitches and he nods again, more so to himself. 

“D’you want to sit down?” Luther asks, inching a little closer to his brother. It nearly shocks him every time he sees either Klaus or Dave standing up; surprised that their knees don’t just give out immediately. He has to stop himself from immediately trying to support him or trying to usher him to sit down quickly. 

Klaus hesitates, glancing to the side before pressing his lips together and nodding; he comes over, sitting on the couch beside Dave and peering at all the books Luther brought out for him.

“I thought you were sleeping,” says Dave in a hushed voice. Klaus nudges him gently, presses their shoulders together.

“Nightmare,” he murmurs, quiet enough Luther barely hears it. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, sure that if Klaus decides to confide in Dave whatever his nightmare was about that it’s something Luther probably shouldn’t hear, and probably wouldn’t want to, either. 

But Klaus doesn’t tell him about it; he probably doesn’t need to, Luther realises. Dave bobs his head in easy acknowledgement and understanding, one hand disappearing from his book to rest somewhere on Klaus. 

He wonders if he should suggest the idea of writing to Klaus. It might help his brother too, but it feels like something he should suggest when they’re alone, even if he did just talk to Dave about it. He makes a mental note of doing that the next time he and Klaus have a moment alone. 

“I thought it might be a good way to let him know about what happened,” says Luther, gesturing vaguely. “Since, you know. The forties.”

“Ah,” hums Klaus, leaning back in the chair before looking to Dave. “Sorry I didn’t think of that earlier.”

“‘S fine,” Dave dismisses, frowning. “But thank you, Luther.”

Luther offers a smile to the two of them, although it feels hard to muster it. “Don’t mention it.” His eyes bounce to the window, and remembering how tired Dave had looked a moment ago, he says, “we can take those books back through to the infirmary and you can keep reading in there. It’d be more comfortable for you.”

Dave seems a little relieved by that, nodding. “That’d be good, thanks.”

Luther gathers the books up in his arms, carrying them through to the infirmary as Klaus and Dave follow silently behind him. He has to glance over his shoulder to make sure they’re both actually there, because their footsteps are so light and muffled even further by the fluffy socks they wear, and neither of them say anything. 

He has a random thought about being the one to lead them somewhere, and he hopes even just walking with them isn’t intimidating or reminiscent of the camp, but he has no real way of knowing.

He might have read many books, might have tried his best to understand what happened to know what his brother had to go through, to know what to expect or to look out for, but he won’t be able to truly understand it on the same level as Klaus or Dave; won’t be able to truly understand their experience. He just hopes that what he does try to do to help, actually does something. 

He sets the books on a table and brings the table to the side of their bed so both of them can reach it, and he lingers as the two of them settle back on the bed, offering a hand in case they need a little help. He notices the way they grimace when they do a certain thing or move a certain way, pain flashes across their faces, but neither of them ever complain or even hesitate; just push through it. 

It makes Luther sad to think that they are too afraid to slow down or stop doing something even if it hurts them; or maybe they’re just used to that now. 

“Do you need anything else?” He asks, looking between the two of them. “A drink? Or a snack?”

He hides his grimace when he thinks back to the way they both react to food, the incident from a while ago still fresh in his head. It’s just - god, it’s heartbreaking, the way his brother reacts now - how he used to be so loud mouthed and eccentric and cocky, and now he just looks constantly afraid of everything, speaking quietly and barely at all, worried about doing something he’s not allowed to do. 

“No,” says Klaus, shaking his head and fiddling with the blanket on his lip. “We’re good. Thank you.”

“Okay,” murmurs Luther, nodding. “I’ll… leave you to it, then. Night.”

“Goodnight,” says Klaus.

“Goodnight,” echoes Dave. “And thank you.”

“Right,” Luther utters, throat tight. He couldn’t protect Klaus and now he isn’t sure if his own presence helps or if it just makes things worse. He wishes he could reach out, set a hand on his shoulder, or even hug his brother in relief that he’s here, because it could have been so easy to have lost him and if not for Diego then they might not even know by now, but that might just trigger him and make him afraid. 

Luther turns, hurrying out of the infirmary and to his own bedroom.

He sits on his bed for a while, model plane dangling above his head, feeling guilt and worry churn up in his guts, and then he finds one of many journals in his bedroom and tries to write. 

He finds it difficult to do tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luther is Soft


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for stuff about dehumanisation, implied/referenced self-harm.

_ The floor vibrates beneath him, the train speeding along the tracks beneath it, crushing rocks beneath its wheels and rocking slightly. Klaus is grateful he doesn’t get travel sick, especially considering he’s already been in here for hours. He can’t be sure how long, but it’s been long enough to turn his racing thoughts and emotions numb, as well as his legs. _

_ They’re all crushed up against one another, and his hands and feet have been stood on multiple times, and someone tripped over him earlier and fell into another man. _

_ He knows, at least vaguely, where they’re going. He knows what’s going to happen. It still feels so surreal, and he can’t quite wrap his head around it, but he doubts he ever will be able to. _

_ He sways with the train, bumping into the person to his side. He wonders how much longer they will be going for. _

_ At the very least, it’s not been long enough for people to start panicking. They don’t know their actual, final destination, and they probably aren’t even thinking the likes of it. A ghetto, maybe - and maybe that is where they’re going. Klaus simply doubts that. _

_ He wraps his arms around his knees, holding them close to his chest. He sways. The old man to his left digs his elbow into his side. Klaus leans his head back against the wall behind him and closes his eyes and he thinks. _

_ He has no fucking clue what the hell is going on, or what the hell he’s supposed to do. _

_ He needs to leave, that much is obvious. He needs to get back to 2019 right now - he shouldn’t have stayed around those first few days just because he was tired (although he couldn’t exactly blame himself for that, after going through hours of torture and drug withdrawals) and intrigued by the man who had generously taken him in. Sure, he had been afraid that he would open the briefcase and it would spit him out somewhere else, somewhere worse, but- _

_ Where could it possibly send him that it would be worse than where he currently was? _

_ Since leaving the bookstore, he hasn’t had a second alone to attempt using the briefcase, as well as being stuck in some detached state, half convinced that at any moment now he will wake up and this will all be some horrifically fucked up dream, or even some hallucination. He’d embrace waking up back in that closet with Hazel and Cha-Cha with open arms. _

_ Perhaps desperately clinging to the idea that this actually is a dream, along with the exhaustion he feels after the chaos of being shoved out of the bookstore and crammed into this train died down, Klaus feels himself drifting off into a fitful, disorienting sleep, full of flashing dreams interrupted by the squeak of train wheels on a track. _

_ He tries to pass the time with sleep, considering there is nothing else to do, but time seems to be endless in here, and the train keeps going, and it never gets better. _

_ He holds back groans as his legs cramp up with nowhere to stretch them out, and when it gets unbearable, he uses the wall behind him to haul himself to his feet slowly, although doing so just hurts as much - or perhaps even more. _

_ Standing up, he has a better view of the carriage and the people in it, and he takes a moment to look over everyone. _

_ They look about as exhausted as he feels, uncomfortable at the cramped conditions they’re stuck in, wearing on them after so long, distressed by the lack of food, the lack of water, the ill people around them; parents trying to keep up some positivity for the children here (and oh, there’s children. There’s toddlers. There’s an infant cradled to their mother’s chest who’s been crying for what must be nearly an hour now.) _

_ Sometimes, someone will pound on the door or the wall, calling out for food or water or fresh air. They always go ignored. _

_ They mutter amongst themselves, complaining about the situation, about the people that nudge one another and trip over one another, about the people who keep coughing and the kids that keep crying. Other people just sit, or stand, and stare blankly, tired and not quite awake. _

_ He could try the briefcase, but he has no idea what might happen. What if it breaks? What if it sends him into the apocalypse Five mentioned? What if it sends someone else away? What if it does nothing? _

_ Maybe the train will stop, and in the commotion of everyone getting out, he will try it then, quickly, before anyone can look at him. _

_ But Dave… _

_ Dave, who has been so kind to him the past few days, whose sister is getting weaker and weaker - he’d have to leave him, wouldn’t he? Who knows what would happen if the briefcase worked and he tried to use it on multiple people. He’d have to leave him, after Dave has already stuck his neck out for him without knowing him, and knowing where he and his sisters are going - he can hardly stomach the idea. _

_ Klaus doesn’t know what to do. _

_ He wishes Ben were here. Hell, if Ben were here this probably never would have gotten this far. He probably would have gotten back home within twelve hours of being here. _

_ Klaus is pulled from his thoughts at the way a sudden foul smell spreads through the carriage, and immediately everyone reaches to cover their noses, uproar starting up, some people in the opposite end of the carriage trying to shove their way through the crowd, other people rushing up onto their feet. _

_ Maybe due to the way the train sways on the tracks and turns corners, or maybe a person did it by accident, but the bucket in the corner of the train that had been used as a makeshift toilet for everyone had tipped over, contents spilling everywhere. _

_ The pounding on the walls and door starts up again, pleading for some air. Klaus thumps his head back against the wall behind himself miserably, and closes his eyes again. _

_ He never gets a chance to use that briefcase when they get off the train. Too quickly, it’s being thrown into a pile and sent somewhere else, and his mind is reeling and frozen with all the yelling and the commands and the guns and the dogs and the hands that slap him when he takes too long to answer a question he can’t understand, hands that grab fistfuls of his hair just to shake his head around a little before they shave it off and hands that yank his arm away from his bare chest to stretch it out as a canvas for an ink-soaked needle. _

_ He watches the ink morph into numbers on his skin with an odd sense of detachment and resignation. It’s not the first time he’s been tattooed against his will; not even the first time he’s been tattooed as a brand, a claim, and he can almost feel the leather chair under him that he sat on in the Academy to get the umbrella tattooed on him first. _

_ But he’s not in the Academy, and the stool he’s on is hard and cold on his bare skin, and this is done crudely, uneven along his arm and needle pressed in with a heavy hand, and his hair’s in a heap nearby him, short strands littering the ground around his feet, and this is infinitely more dehumanising than the umbrella tattoo. _

_ He stares at the number on his skin and wonders if that’s how many people were before him, or if it puts him into a specific group of prisoners. He knows, of course, how many people were here, but the number looks impossibly large like this. _

_ There’s no time to dwell on it; it’s done, and he’s shoved aside and moved in one direction, arm aching distantly, and it’s just a number. He’s just a number, again. _

_ ### _

Dave is still asleep when Klaus wakes up. 

He turns around to face him, blinking sleep from his vision and trying to overlook the heaviness in his chest that followed him from his dream. He tugs a hand out from the warmth of the blankets over them and reaches out, ghosting his fingertips along his cheek. 

He’s getting more colour to his skin now, a gentle flush to his cheeks, and he looks more peaceful when he sleeps. Klaus sits up slowly, making sure not to disturb him, and he gently pulls the blanket up his shoulder where it slipped down. 

“It’s early.”

He startles slightly, turning to look at Ben standing nearby, who offers him a quiet apology before repeating what he said. “It’s early; you could get some more sleep, Klaus.”

Klaus knows it’s early - he still wakes up at the same time every day, unable to shake the habit and oftentimes unable to fall back asleep even if he still feels tired. He sighs, shoulders slumping, and looks down at his hands on his lap, watching his fingers pick at the blankets absentmindedly. On his left arm is the umbrella tattoo, stretching out over his forearm, visible from most angles, too large to hide from; on the right, crawling up his forearm, is his number. Without long sleeves, they’re hard to hide, and they glare at him every time he catches a glimpse of them. 

Klaus just feels tired. 

He hasn’t been able to shake this bone-deep fatigue and heaviness that he’s felt since the following few days since getting back to the Academy, and some days it’s worse than others. He’s just…

He’s tired. There’s no desperate scrabble for survival anymore, no need to throw his energy into staying alive, no fight he needs to give anymore. It should be nice, it should be relaxing, but this weight in his bones won’t go and it almost feels a little like defeat, in some ways.

He stares at his hands again, at his palms. The tattoos there are incredibly faded now, and there are scattered, pale little scars around his hands from cuts and scrapes he’s gotten from working. Parts of his tattoos are nearly completely gone, more so on his dominant left hand. They need touched up. He doesn’t like how washed away they look, something that had been such a statement to himself fading away, leaving only the brands on his forearms. He wants - needs - the tattoos on his palms bold and dark and obvious. 

“You okay, Klaus?” Asks Ben, pulling him from his thoughts. Klaus yanks his sleeves down to his wrists and peers over at his brother, nodding away his concern. 

“Fine,” he sighs, leaning back into the bed with another glance at Dave beside him. “What time is it?” 

“Half four,” answers Ben, not needing to check. It’s always half four, or close enough to it. Klaus’ head bobs in a nod of acknowledgement and he looks around the dimly-lit room. All the books Luther got Dave are still nearby, and he regrets not thinking about that earlier. They might be able to recover here, but that isn’t going to change the fact that Dave is in an entirely different world, and he’s going to have to adjust to everything. At least maybe with these can help him before he ever has to leave the Academy and see it all for himself. 

He can’t imagine it’ll be easy for him to understand it all and adapt, but Klaus can be there for him, and he will be to the best of his ability. Underneath the blankets, Klaus fumbles to find Dave’s hand, curling his fingers around Dave’s for a moment and feeling his hand twitch slightly before curling in response, and it brings a small smile to Klaus’ face.

“The books’ll be good for him,” offers Ben, sitting down on a nearby chair, and Klaus hums.

“Hopefully,” he says. Ben is quiet for a moment.

“You really care about him,” he states. Klaus blinks and runs his thumb over Dave’s sharp knuckles.

“Yeah, I do. He was good. He was always so good, there.”

“I’m glad you had him,” Ben says, and Klaus tips his head in his direction. 

“So am I.”

He’s sure Ben feels somewhat guilty about not being there with him after being by his side for so long, trying to look out for him, and he isn’t sure what he can say right now to relieve some of that guilt from his brother. 

His thoughts slip back to that hug. He doesn’t know how he managed to do that, and it left him exhausted afterwards, but being able to touch Ben after so long - it was incredible. Now, he offers out his free hand, palm-up, and Ben stares at it for several moments and seems to almost hold his breath, despite not needing to do so at all.

Tentatively, he reaches out, hand hovering over his, and then he lowers it. Klaus’ breath hitches in his throat as their hands connect, and even Ben makes a little sound of surprise. Klaus interlocks their fingers, Ben too frozen to do so, but he returns the smile Klaus offers him. 

“This is - nice,” Ben chokes out, and Klaus snorts quietly, watching Ben stare at their hands, squeezing his, as if exploring the sensation of touching him again, a little glint of wonder in his eyes. Klaus hums, taking his other hand from Dave, and begins to shuffle to the edge of the bed.

“Help me down?” He asks, and Ben frowns, but he does help anyway when Klaus drapes his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. He isn’t as weak as he was earlier, but his legs are still shaky and mobility still limited. It just takes him a little longer to collapse now. 

“Where are you going?” Ben asks him, immediately by his side. Their connection doesn’t cut out and he keeps holding onto him, but Klaus can already feel the strain of his powers, but he pushes it a little longer.

“Want a bath,” he states, shuffling in the direction of the bathroom with a quick glance over his shoulder at Dave, head poking out from the blankets. He wants a bath with hot, clean water, and although he also has a growing sense of anxiety whenever he is apart from Dave, he also wants to be alone this time, even if only for five minutes. He’s tired of the way people keep branding him theirs, and he wants a moment to be the only person to see himself naked. 

Ben helps him into the bathroom, helps him perch on the edge of the bathtub as he stretches forwards to turn the taps. Reluctantly, Ben lets go of his hand, though his fingers linger for a moment longer before he pulls away, and Klaus can’t help but exhale slightly as his powers relax. 

“Can you… watch Dave? Please?” He asks, before Ben can get comfortable closeby. “Let me know if he wakes up?”

Evidently, Ben looks as if he would prefer to stay close to Klaus. He worries his lip between his teeth, glancing between his brother and the door. “Please?” Insists Klaus. “He might - panic, if he wakes up alone, and I won’t be long.”

Ben slumps, nodding gently. “Okay, alright, yeah,” he says, heading towards the door. “If you need me, just - call, yeah?”

“Of course.” Klaus offers a smile before he turns and phases through the door, disappearing from his view, and then his attention turns to the bath. As the water steadily fills the tub, he shucks his clothes off and sets them in a neat pile nearby, and then he sinks into the tub as soon as the water’s high enough.

He’s not dirty anymore, but he still feels as if there should be dirt caked on his skin and under his nails. Nothing comes off when he scrubs at his arms, his stomach, his legs, or when he cups water in his hands and pours it over his face, over his head. There’s no more smell clinging to his skin or his clothes either, even if it lingers in his nose sometimes. For some reason, he doesn’t find that entirely comforting. If it’s not there, why can he still feel it? Smell it? Why won’t it ever leave?

There’s shampoo and body wash in this bathroom that smell faintly of honey, and he tries to work that into his skin instead as if that can overpower the stench of dirt and damp and disease and burning and corpses. By the time he’s done, his skin is tinged pink wherever his hands can reach it, and he can still smell death. 

(Maybe it’s the ghosts; maybe he can smell them now.)

The bath water is soapy, pale bubbles laying across the surface in contrast to a dirty film, and his knees rise out of the water. He wraps his arms around his legs, holding them to his chest. His chin rests on his knees and his shoulders slump with a heavy sigh; his eyes slip closed. He feels a drop of water race down his spine and he shivers. 

Privacy wasn’t a thing, there, though it never exactly mattered. It was the least of their problems, being naked around strangers, be it other prisoners or by doctors or officers, and Klaus never had a real problem with the nudity - it was more so the way they were perceived, humiliated, manhandled, stripped, poked and prodded, always rough and entitled and invasive, not seeing a person beyond a random body, a piece of cattle. Like it was their right to his body - as if it wasn’t his body at all - and the nudity became something humiliating and embarrassing and something to fear - would they see injuries and how weak he’d become and decide his time was over? That he was no longer useful to do their work? 

And the way he’d have to show their little tag on his arm for them to identity him, call it out (Dave had to teach him how to say it, he had no clue how to read that number in German) like a new name; the new identity they had given him after taking his away from him.

It’s hard to look at himself and not see _ there _written all over him, in the numbers on his arm, the scars on his skin, the short buzz of his hair and the jut of his visible bones; body mutilated to their liking, and leaving him with a twisted sense of self and a mix of anguish and anger that he doesn’t know how to deal with. 

The water is cold by the time he pulls the plug and steps out of the bath. He only just remembers to dry himself off before pulling his clothes back on, yanking his sleeves down to his wrists and covering the angry scratches fresh along his forearms, and then he goes back to the infirmary.

Ben smiles at him as he comes over, and Klaus doesn’t return it. He sits down on the bed, knees a little shaky beneath him, and closes his eyes as he fights back the urge to do something - to cry, or to yell and lash out, to throw something or collapse back onto the bed and hide from everyone.

There is the sound of a book opening, pages turning, and then Ben swallows and begins to read aloud, voice calm and steady and loud over the ringing in his ears and the pacing ghost behind him.

Klaus exhales heavily, shakily, and then turns to face Ben and watches him read, clinging onto his words. Ben doesn’t look up from his book, but he doesn’t stop reading either, and Klaus wills himself to focus entirely on the story he’s telling, an attempt to drown everything else out like honey over the smell of death.


End file.
